


Venom

by Montley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horror, Multichapter, Post-Canon, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Montley/pseuds/Montley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger has a secret, and that secret involves a certain petulant ex-Dark Lord. (Follows canon except for the epilogue)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first eleven chapters were pre-written before I posted them here. They have been on fanfiction(.)net for a while now, but I figured I should post them here as well.   
> The final two chapters will be out before the end of the summer. 
> 
> The actual story takes place about seven years after the war.

"For she's a jolly good fellow! For she's a golly jood fellow! For she's not mellooooow! And aaaalll the rest of the woooords!" Ron and George Weasley slurred as they sloshed bottles of beer in their hands while Hermione laughed along at their antics.

"You're sweet, Ron," Hermione told him, and kissed his reddened, freckled nose. He released his arm from around George's shoulders and seized Hermione in an embrace. He leaned towards her and pressed a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Much happy birthday, He'Mione," Ron slurred, his eyes focusing back on his drink. She giggled once more before pressing the palm of her hand against Ron's neck, pulling him closer and pressing her lips against his.

Their lips parted, and Ron gave her a goofy smile in return. Hermione could tell that every time that they kissed, it was like the first time to him. Ron would always remember the time during the heat of battle when their lips first pressed together. But for her, there was nothing. Yet he never noticed. Why would he? Perhaps this time it was only the taste of the liquor upon his lips affecting her sensibilities.

Hermione choked down a sob as her eyes glanced at the shining ring around her finger. He could not know. She still loved him, more than he could possibly know. But it was just…different.

Ron had even planned this little get together on her behalf. She had originally not wished to do anything at all for her twenty-fifth birthday. It was nothing special to her. She needed to go back to work anyway, as soon as possible. Yet, Ron never took no for an acceptable answer.

So, he invited their friends for a get-together. She had not seen most of them like Luna and Neville for a long time, so it was nice. Then, Ron popped the question, and in front of all of their friends, so she could not say no to him. Ginny was elated, and Harry already proclaimed himself the Best Man as Hermione felt as though she was drowning, as though she was witnessing this whole exchange outside of her body.

Afterwards they all made their way to the Leaky Cauldron for a celebratory drink, which turned into celebratory drinks.

"I really have to go, Ron," Hermione told him, pressing another kiss on his freckled cheek.

"No, no, Her-her-m-mione," he attempted to plead. Ignoring his protests, she stepped away from the bar and wrapped her coat around herself, bunching its warmth upon her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. "Goodbye all! Thank you so much for this outing, but I really have to go. It's imperative."

"Hermione! Not again!" Harry complained. "Live a little, it's your birthday for Merlin's sake!"

"I'm sorry, Harry, really it's been a fantastic time, and I've already been out for more than usual," she told him. He rolled his eyes and stumbled away from the bar, and Hermione noticed that Ron had now passed out upon the bar with drool slinking from his chapped lips.

Harry wrapped his arms around her. "Happy birthday, Hermione and congratulations. Ron was so happy, of course you can't really tell now, eh?"

He laughed at he gestured towards the drooling Ron. Hermione smirked and kissed Harry's cheek. Harry's glasses were lopsided, and she could smell the fire whiskey lingering on his breath.

"Thanks, Harry, but I've got to go," she repeated, and she pulled her wand out of her pocket.

"Don't stay away from us all too long, eh, you've gotta get your head away from work sometimes. I know you're an Unspeakable, and you can't speak to us about it, but seriously, time off wouldn't hurt," he told her, a concerned look laced within his bright, green eyes.

"I-I know, Harry, love you too," she told him with a shake of her head. "But I seriously have to leave."

"Fine, I abdicate my efforts," he relented, his arms in the air. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," she said through gritted teeth before she warped herself through the familiar throes of apparation, appearing before that one familiar telephone booth.

Hermione closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The air surrounding her was frigid. Her birthday was never particularly pleasant weather wise. There was always rain and coldness trickling up her spine. Each year it only grew worse, especially now that…

Her hand traced the edge of the phone booth as she entered, a chill running upon the back of her spine knowing what was waiting for her in its bottomless pits. What a fantastic way to end her birthday! The booth began lowering her down into the pitch black darkness. It may be the guest entrance, but she preferred it to the nasty toilets or even Floo powder. It was a way to touch her old Muggle life and mock him. She was laughed at for using this entrance, but she laughed at everyone else in her wake.

Her flats reverberated against the hard floor with every step she took when the phone booth finally brought her inside the Ministry. Everyone else had already left these empty, isolated halls. She headed towards the elevator and let it lower herself down into the bowels of the Ministry.

"Department of Mysteries," the clear feminine voice called out. Hermione quickly departed the elevator, and it shut behind her. With a deep breath, she surged forwards throughout the Department, heading towards that same familiar door. She bumbled around through the familiar twists and turns that she went through every day.

Soon, she was in front of the room. She held out her fist in front of her and began to knock twice. The door clicked open and in front of her was her frazzled co-worker.

"Finally, you're here," Theo Nott said with a roll of his eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, Theo, my friends held me up at the bar," Hermione explained frivolously.

"You have friends?" Nott pondered, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Funny," Hermione drawled, and she gave him a small punch on his arm.

"Right, it's your birthday, isn't it?" Nott asked, guilty that he had forgotten.

"Yes, but don't worry about it, Theo, I could care less about my birthday as it is. You can go now, I'll take over," Hermione told him as she pushed her way into the room.

"See you then, Hermione! Happy birthday!" Nott said as his farewell as he began to leave the department.

"Wait!" Hermione called out. "Any progress or new information?"

"No!" Nott called back through the passageways. "He's always too irresolute to talk to me! Everything else is as normal as it can be though!"

"Thanks!" Hermione waved Nott farewell as she entered the room and shut the door behind her. She stepped inside saw through the reverberating wards cast by herself, Nott and Kingsley. No one could get in or out of the room if they weren't one of them.

Hermione waved her wand in front of the wards and stepped inside, feeling the wards undulating around her body and greeting her solemnly. She progressed further inside the so-called Room of Voices with taunting whispers flowing in and out of her perked ears; prolonged exposure in the room can turn a person mad, but their prisoner has not even flinched once. Perhaps it's because he's already mad as one can be.

And there he was, seated calmly in a sharp, steel chair, his hands firmly pressed together.

The supposed dead, Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks ago

Hermione and Theodore Nott, two Unspeakables for the Department of Mysteries, strolled through the halls of the Ministry on their way to the Minister's office in replace of their Department Head, Quentin Bulstrode. Originally, it was supposed to be a meeting between Quentin and Kingsley, but Quentin chose to send them in his stead instead. Hermione was his second-in-command and Nott was also high in the division. Rather, Quentin was too reluctant to speak with Kingsley himself, choosing to instead, take another senseless nap. Hermione did not like her department head, but she estimated that he was five years away from a hopeful retirement, so she strived through his constant annoyances and requests.

"What do you think Kinglsey wants this time?" Nott asked on their way to the office.

"Probably to speak about Goldstein's incident last week and how we're going to handle it. I hope Anthony won't be fired for this," Hermione answered, and Nott nodded.

"Be a shame," Nott said. "It was only an accident. So we're going to defend the chap right?"

"Course, Theo," Hermione agreed with a smile.

Her smile faded as her lower right side suddenly flared up in pain, and her whole body flinched and grimaced. That damn area had bothered her for years after the war ceased. She had initially surmised that it must be a sustaining injury from the battle, either a stray curse or a wound that was not fully healed. Yet, a year after the war and troubled intimacy, Ron made her see a Healer. After some diagnostics the Healer had told her that there was nothing there and there was nothing anyone could do, and that it was not at all detrimental to her health. So she left it alone. But that didn't stop it from flaring up every now and again.

Nott stopped walking as he studied her. "You all right, Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she answered, pressing her hand against her side and putting on a straight face.

"You sure? Because I can talk to Kingsley about Goldstein myself if you need to go home," Nott implored.

"No, no, that's not necessary, this happens all the time. I can live with it," Hermione replied with a reassuring smile. "Let's go."

Reluctantly, Nott nodded once more, and he opened the door to Kingsley's office. While Hermione meandered her way inside his office, the pain flared up even more against her side. It was stinging and burning her, the scar testing her and laughing at her pain. Kingsley stood from his desk with a smile, and Hermione's face was passive as she and Nott shook his hand before they sat down.

"Good morning, Miss Granger, Mr Nott, I'm sure you know why you're both here. Make sure to pass this all to Mr Bulstrode," Kingsley began, but Hermione found it difficult to pay attention to the man. The pain in her side would not subside, and she reached for her wand inconspicuously in an attempt to assuage the pain. Kingsley continued to drawl on, and Hermione reassured herself that no doubt Nott was paying Kingsley every bit of attention he could. Her eyes squinted through the pain; it should be over soon, it should. It never lasted this long…

But Hermione opened her eyes the moment Nott screamed, "Shit!"

Her eyes immediately darted to Nott's shocked face, and for the first time in her life she saw a baffled Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Right there in front of her chair was an alarmed-looking Tom Marvolo Riddle as naked as the day he was born. Hermione's mouth dropped, and before she could compose herself, her pain subsided, and she pointed her wand against his chest.

"Oh, hello," the naked Riddle greeted, attempting a smile. "You see, I believe there must have been a mistake with my magic, erm, as you can all tell. So I'll be on my way, thank you."

Immediately, Hermione fumbled for a better grip on her wand and yelled, "Stupefy!"

A red light spurred out of her wand and knocked Riddle backwards, slamming and breaking Kingsley's desk.

"What the hell!" Nott exclaimed. "Who was that?"

"I need some answers, Hermione," Kingsley commanded as he stood from his chair.

"That-that was Tom Riddle, V-Voldemort," Hermione stuttered, not believing this to be true. How the hell could this have happened? He was dead. Everything had been perfect. And Harry…Harry…

Fuck.

xXx

Two Weeks Later

Two weeks ago, after Riddle appeared stark naked in Kingsley's office, Kingsley had issued that he be locked up in the Department of Mysteries inside the Room of Voices as both Hermione and Nott were Unspeakables. He declared that until the time was right, or when the circumstances surrounding Riddle's appearance was solved, no one besides the three of them would know about Riddle's presence, not even Quentin or the Auror Department.

Though, Hermione knew that the information must be released soon, not to the public of course. If people like Rita Skeeter got a hold of this information, the world would explode. But she knew that the information should at least be given to Harry. Every time she spoke to him, she wanted to scream and reveal everything. For now, Kingsley only wanted to determine whether or not this copy of Riddle was the real Riddle and not some devious ploy by a Death Eater, as the copy did not look a thing like the Voldemort they knew.

Lord Voldemort, or at least, some sort of reincarnation of his original self, still sat in the steel chair, smirking and toying with Hermione without uttering a single word. Surrounding the figure was an aura of mysteriousness that Hermione, Nott and Kingsley had unfortunately yet to solve.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Riddle greeted, his face passive. "Do come in, Nott's company was growing unpleasant, and I was missing my mudblood."

During the past two weeks, Hermione learned to ignore his constant degrading comments, no matter how much it made her blood boil every time that he spoke. Though, it made her blood boil each time she was forced to even look at him. He was no longer reminiscent of his snake-like form. Riddle retained his nose, and his face was aristocratic, with sharp features and thin lips. His deep black hair had returned to his scalp, it was a perfectly formed in a fluff upon his head, in the perfect way that would make someone desire to run their fingers through it. To her, he appeared to be reminiscent of what he looked like in his late twenties, however that was possible. Luckily, Nott had given Riddle some of his hand-me-downs, so that, as Nott said, 'No one has to see his junk anymore.'

Yet, Riddle's eyes still glinted red, revealing the treacherous psychopathic nature inside. His newfound existence was a mystery to the three of them, and now she was forced to spend most of her nights with him instead of tending to her normal duties. Whatever Death Eater or person had done this, whether it be a prank or a ploy, they would receive the highest form of punishment Hermione could concoct.

When Riddle came to them, Kingsley decided that he must be supervised by at least one of the three of them at all times. Even though it was quite humorous how Riddle came into being, Hermione wished he never had, even though the mystery was biting at her intelligence, beckoning her to solve it.

Kingsley said he would announce things about Riddle when the time was right, or when Riddle was confirmed to definitely be Voldemort and not some trick or ploy against their minds. Hermione desperately wanted to inform Harry, yet she did not wish to defy Kingsley.

So there she is every day, in front of the evil bastard who constantly smirked and chuckled, who only spoke with her. She despised him more than anything in the world, and she hated him for making her hide things from Harry and Ron. A thing like him.

"No response?" Riddle teased. "So unlike you, Miss Granger."

"You shouldn't be dignified with a response to a statement such as that," Hermione snapped as she walked towards him, pulling her wand out. His eyes looked towards her wand, and she gritted her teeth together. "Just the daily diagnostics check."

Riddle nodded his head slowly and stood from his seat and spread his long, pale arms out. She slowly ran her wand along his body. She reached her wand arm high to scan his head, but she would not let his height intimidate her, for she had special access at the moment to knee his groin. Also, she was the one with the wand at her disposal. When he appeared to them, he carried nothing at all; of course, he was as nude as the day he was unfortunately born.

"Done," Hermione muttered and immediately stood away from Riddle. He strode back to his chair and sat down, studying her.

She waved her waved and duplicated his chair, and pulled it towards herself at the opposite side of the room. She sat down and opened her purse which she had kept after the end of the war. She took out a manila folder that Quentin had bequeathed her earlier that day during her normal shift as a proper Unspeakable, not one babysitting a petulant ex-Dark Lord. She had to file some reports and collects notes upon a new conquest the department was trying to complete. She was happy to do anything that did not have to do with Riddle, even if it was in his presence.

Hermione ignored Riddle's eyes upon her as she browsed through the notes, making corrections as she went along.

"No books again? I'd really enjoy a book," he questioned, and she looked up at him and his devilish smirk.

"You don't deserve any entertainment," she snapped, looking back down at her work.

"Then why did the Minister send you to watch over me?" he teased.

She looked up and glared at him. "Don't you dare degrade me."

"Don't fret, now, Miss Granger. Your mere existence already does that for me," Riddle snarled.

"Fine, you want to talk, we'll talk," Hermione snapped and filed her papers back inside her purse. "How are you here?"

"Oh, Miss Granger." Riddle sighed and twiddled his fingers together. "You so desperately want to know, do you? It's tickling at you, teasing you, and it makes you want to scream, even torture me for a response. But I won't dignify you with one."

"As I figured," Hermione retorted. "But we'll find out eventually. How about let's discuss what I know."

"Do, do go on, I implore you," Riddle mockingly urged, feigning interest.

"During my meeting with Kingsley and Nott, you simply appeared out of thin air," she began. "At first I thought you were part of my imagination, rather, a part of my inner nightmares."

"So I frighten you," Riddle declared, inching further in his chair, a sly grin upon his face.

"You frighten everyone," Hermione stated plainly. "People called you, You-Know-Who, for many, many years, even after they believed you were dead the first time. They still call you that sometimes. You messed them up, Voldemort. "

"You're degrading my name with your filthy tongue. I suggest that you stop," Riddle snarled.

"So, Tom," Hermione said with a small smile. "Want to know what else I know?"

"What?" Riddle asked, his red eyes growing brighter.

"You look exactly like your Muggle father," she said, and leaned back in her seat, feeling victorious.

"Shut your filthy, little mouth, Mudblood," Riddle hissed, reminding her of her childhood enemy, Draco Malfoy. That's all this man could now amount to be, a childhood memory. She had forgotten about Riddle years ago, and she was able to move on with her life past the war. But here he was again, ready to torture more innocent souls.

Hermione smirked and pulled out her files again as she crossed her legs and resumed her work. She could feel his eyes still lingering upon her, but she would not let him bother her. For all she knew, he might not even be real. They would know when Kingsley's results returned from St. Mungo's. Inside of St. Mungo's, Kingsley claimed he had a confidante, who would inform him whether or not Riddle was human, a fake, or whatever the hell he could possibly be.

"I'm bored," Riddle suddenly complained after a few hours. "At least bring me a book. What's the harm? At least the voices around me are somewhat entertaining, but they're getting old."

"How about you just die?" Hermione suggested with a shrug as she continued to work. "I'm sure Hell will be quite thrilling. Tell the devil I say hello."

"I don't plan on it," Riddle quipped. "Rather, I plan on murdering everyone else, sending them all to the bowels of Hell where they belong. Twisting their pathetic little souls, and eating their hearts out for dinner."

"Which you won't," Hermione retorted. "You can't leave here, and you won't leave here. If anything, you'll finally leave here when you die, or when we choose to kill you."

"I can leave whenever I'd like," Riddle calmly replied. "I assure you."

Hermione looked up from her endless papers. "Good to know."

Riddle then became mute for her remaining hours in the room that day, and that was how she liked it. The voices within the room began to laugh, and she could feel their whispers tickling her ears, mocking her presence in the room.

At six in the morning, Kingsley finally arrived, and Hermione leaped when the knock on the door finally sounded. With a small farewell to Kingsley, she dashed out of the room, not looking back at Riddle, whose eyes never left her.

Once she was outside of the Ministry, she immediately apparated home, relieved to finally have a welcoming bed instead of Riddle's cold presence and an uncomfortable steel chair. She entered her small bedroom and gladly collapsed upon her warm mattress, falling into a deep slumber.

xXx

"Hermione, wake up," a voice urged, lulling her away from the beauty that sleep so rarely offered her.

"No," she murmured, her eyes still closed, wishing to fall back into the beautiful land of dreams, away from the nightmare that is her life.

"It's three in the afternoon. You wanted to go out at four. Remember?" the voice said in a soothing manner. A hand began to brush her bushy hair out of her face, and Hermione groaned, finally blinking her eyes open.

"Ergh," Hermione moaned as her vision came into focus, and she made out Ginny sitting on her bed. "Oh, Ginny, whaddya want?"

"Remember, we were going to go to that Muggle place you recommend to you know…" Ginny urged.

"I know what now?" Hermione asked, rubbing at her eyes.

"To discuss wedding plans!" Ginny shrieked. "Remember, you helped me out for mine and Harry's wedding, so I'm here to return the favor of course!"

"W-wedding!" Hermione exclaimed, sitting upright in her bed.

"Dammit Hermione, look at your left hand," Ginny snapped. "Ron proposed to you last night! On your birthday!"

"Right, right, sorry, not used to being awake right now," Hermione replied, taking deep breaths to let the shock flow out of her system. "Shit, I'm engaged."

"Yes, yes you are. Now get up and get dressed," Ginny ordered, standing from the bed and forcefully pulling Hermione out. "That's what you were wearing last night, Hermione! Merlin's beard!"

"Oh, right," Hermione muttered, looking down at her current clothes. "Let me, uh, let me fix that."

"I'll be on your couch when you're done," Ginny said, and she strolled out of the room.

Hermione groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, the last thing she wanted to do was to discuss her impending wedding. And remembering Ron's face only made the situation worse. She hadn't even remembered making plans with Ginny.

Hastily, she pulled on some clothes and quickly ran a brush through her hair. Ginny smiled at her when she finally left her bedroom and Hermione apparated them to an alley relatively close to a small Muggle café in London.

They turned the corner out of the alley and made their way towards the small café. At the counter Hermione ordered a coffee and some jammie dodgers to keep herself alert while Ginny ordered tea and a muffin.

"This place is adorable," Ginny cooed. "Now wedding time."

Hermione chuckled. "We haven't even set a date yet, and I just got engaged yesterday, not even twenty-four hours ago. Are you sure that this is necessary now?"

"Well, we do have to discuss a few things, like for example, I'm definitely your maid of honor," Ginny remarked.

"I thought that was pretty axiomatic." Hermione sniggered as she drank her coffee.

"And I think I know who can be the ring bearer or the flower girl along with Victoire or Teddy if the timing is right, which it better be. You don't have to get married right away," Ginny continued, a snide look in her eyes.

"Oh, and who's that?" Hermione questioned.

"Well, I've been meaning to tell you this for, well, not that long, but still. Anyway," Ginny paused and smiled, mischievousness laced in her eyes. "It could be my kid."

"Y-your kid," Hermione stuttered as Ginny sat back in her seat triumphantly and smirked at her. "You're pregnant!"

"That I am m'dear, and this kid," Ginny continued, gesturing towards her stomach, "will have a badass Bat Bogey Hex, I assure you."

"Oh Merlin! Congratulations!" Hermione shrieked, standing from her seat and hugging Ginny tightly.

"And of course, you and Ron will be godparents to this little fellow, or fella," Ginny said.

"Wow," Hermione said with a gracious smile. "I'm honored."

"You're welcome," Ginny remarked.

Hermione sat back down in her small, steel chair. "How far along are you?"

"Oh, about four weeks, I only found out two nights ago though, didn't want to take the attention off of you last night, birthday girl. It's probably four weeks anyway, but Harry and I are monkeys in the sack, we just go at it all the time, so it's hard to tell as we-," Ginny rambled, but Hermione cut her off.

"Okay, too much information." Hermione laughed.

"What? I bet you and Ron are monkeys in the sack as well. Wait, ew, my brother, I'll just stop there," Ginny continued, and noticed Hermione flushed red, her eyes darted towards the ground. "What, you don't?"

"Well, uh, I work a lot," Hermione muttered. "There's not much, uh, time, and since we don't live together yet. Oh Merlin, I don't know."

"It's all right. When your honeymoon comes along, that's all it's going to be, all day and all night," Ginny reassured. "Perk up! I'm pregnant!"

"It's fantastic, Ginny," Hermione commented. "I can't wait to meet the little guy or gal."

"And he or she will love a great babysitter," Ginny teased.

"Oh really?" Hermione sniggered.

"Yup!"

"Oh, shit," Hermione moaned, her eyes diverted to the clock on the wall.

"What is it?"

"I have to go." Hermione sighed and stood from her seat as she finished her coffee. "My shift starts in about ten minutes."

"Damn, they're overworking your arse," Ginny remarked.

"They have their reasons," Hermione mumbled as she walked over to Ginny and hugged her.

"Guess we didn't get any wedding planning done," Ginny said sadly, her lips pursed.

"It's fine, there'll be plenty of time to do all that crap," Hermione reassured as she parted the hug.

"Fine, but I'll be seeing you soon. And I mean it! Soon!" Ginny called after her after Hermione hurried out of the café.

"Goodbye!" Hermione called back as she dashed towards the alley. She waved her wand and apparated away near the Ministry's phone booth once more, on her way to the depths of Hell and Riddle's evil grin.

It made her sick.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione sat at her desk in her flat, and pulled at her hair in stress. She wanted more than anything to shove her pencil straight through her ear, but that would not end well. Currently, she was continuing her research upon Riddle, how he could possibly exist, how he could remain young, in appearance, and how he was so…human. Yet, she was at a standstill. All the horcruxes were destroyed, and there was no other evidence of precautions for his conquest for immortality. It was not fair how he could still wander among the Earth while so many were buried under it because of a lone spell from his wand.

She heard keys in the door of her flat jingle, and the doorknob turned. She whipped around from her papers and watched as Ron entered the flat.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted with a smile and a bag of Chinese food in his hands. "Got the food."

"Great," Hermione said as she shuffled through her papers and stuffed them inside her portfolio. She maneuvered towards Ron as he entered the kitchenette and began taking out utensils as Ron took out the food.

They began eating, and Ron savored every taste of the Chinese food. These days, neither of them had any time to cook, so they preferred investing in delicious take-out, and Hermione's favorite was Chinese.

"So, whatcha doing at work these days?" Ron asked through bites.

"Oh, you know, secret stuff," Hermione muttered.

"Right, 'unspeakable' things," Ron said, and the both of them chortled. "Anyway, after work I went to see my mum today, and I finally told her about the engagement."

"Oh, what'd she say?"

"She's thrilled, almost started weeping, so happy to have another Mrs Weasley in the family," Ron replied with a wide toothy grin.

"Oh, erm, actually Ron." Hermione paused, and her eyes diverted towards the food on her plate. "I reckon I'm keeping my last name."

Ron was silent for a moment before he replied, "Yeah, yeah, that's fine, I mean I don't care whether or not you take my name, just as long as we're married, y'know."

Hermione beamed. "I was worried that you'd, well…"

Ron chuckled. "We're not in sixth year anymore, Hermione. I've matured, y'know."

He then proceeded to lean back in his chair, spread his legs and tickle his armpit to elicit some humorous reaction out of Hermione. Hermione giggled, and Ron straightened and began to discuss with her his most recent arrest with Harry today. They had apprehended a witch who had tortured her Muggle husband with the Cruciatus; the man had been defenseless, but Ron assumed that the man had betrayed her, yet there was no excuse for using the Cruciatus. There never was.

"Anyway, back to the wedding," Ron said suddenly, and Hermione perked her eyes up. "How soon do you want to get married? We should discuss the basics."

"Soon?!" Hermione squeaked, reiterating Ron, and his lips spread into a large smile.

"Soon!" he repeated excitedly. "Yeah, yeah. Mum will be more than happy to help plan the wedding, since I know it's not really your thing, and she helped Audrey, Fleur and Angelina before."

"Right," Hermione blurted.

"Great. Fantastic," Ron chirped. "So, Hermione, can I stay the night? It's late, and we may as well get used to it," Ron asked her, puppy dog's look in his eyes. She smiled.

"Of course, Ron, it's not like you haven't before, and I suppose we'll get a house soon, like Harry and Ginny," she suggested as she began to throw away the garbage.

"Right, yeah," Ron agreed, and he approached her, and turned her around from the sink. "I love you."

"I love you too, Ron," Hermione conceded with a half-smile. Ron leaned down and softly pressed his chapped lips against hers, running his hands against her sides. Hermione gulped as she prevented tears from prickling her eyes.

xXx

Hermione sat in Kingsley's office, her thumbs twiddling and her legs crossed as she waited for Kingsley to return. He had summoned her here before she was to go down and supervise Riddle once more. Nott was supposed to have a meeting with Kingsley after she would relieve Nott of his duties for the day. The door to the office opened and shut with a sharp click, and she listened to the sweep of Kingsley's cloak resonating through the room.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Kinglsey greeted, and sat down at his desk, facing her with a smile.

"Good morning, Minister," Hermione reciprocated as she faced him, glimmer of sweat trickling down her forehead.

"No need to be nervous, Miss Granger," Kingsley said, "I just have some updates about Riddle."

"Of course."

"Results from my confidante at St. Mungo's returned yesterday night, and Riddle is shown to be human through it, yet with traces of lingering dark magic within his blood stream," Kingsley informed.

"Are you aware what the dark magic is?" Hermione asked.

"No," Kingsley responded flatly. "My confidante did any and all tests as she could, but there was nothing to be revealed except for the traces."

"It could possibly be remaining horcrux magic within his system," Hermione suggested. "I've being doing countless research, but there was nothing plausible that I could find that would be able to sustain both his youth and immortality. It's quite mystifying. There also remains the fact that it isn't him, instead some sort of creation by one of his followers."

"I'm afraid I must disagree with that option. I believe that it is him, as I said, he is human, but with remnants of dark magic," Kingsley replied with a bleak sadness in his dim eyes.

"Of course." Hermione sighed and bit her lip. "Then the Auror Department needs to know. It's imperative."

"I was worried it would come to this," Kingsley stated. "I wish that he was not back. This was a peaceful time with no wars or strife to harm our world, but with him back, I do not know anymore. All I wish is for the community to be safe. Once the tests at St. Mungo's are officially done, I will tell the Auror Department. It is necessary to have these tests complete and prove that, that man, is indeed Riddle. There is no need for the world to go into panic otherwise. Once the Auror Department knows, it will leak to the Daily Prophet, and then it is all over for us all."

"I am aware, but we have him in custody, and we can do what we'd like. He deserves a death penalty for his crimes against nature and against the world," Hermione said urgently, leaning closer to Kingsley, her hands gripping the edge of her seat. "We can't have any more unnecessary deaths."

"And what if he comes back again?" Kingsley pointed out. "We need to keep him alive or around as long as necessary to define how he returned once more, and destroy its root. I need you to question him, Miss Granger, to the best of your abilities. Define who he is, and then we can destroy him."

"Will Nott be receiving the same assignment?" Hermione asked.

"No. Riddle refuses to speak with Nott and myself, it's just you Miss Granger. He likes you," Kingsley remarked. "You need to access his core and figure him out."

"But, what if-" Hermione began.

"You're a remarkable witch, one of the best that I've seen, and I would not be surprised if this is your office one day, so I don't wish to hear any what ifs. You can do this. You're a Gryffindor, there's no need to let him get to you, or let him make you fear him," Kingsley reassured. "Now go, and begin now. He will speak to you, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, Minister," Hermione muttered, feeling heat rise to grace her cheeks.

"I have prepared some questions for you to get your started today, as this is last minute," Kingsley told her, handing her a sheet of parchment paper. Hesitantly, Hermione grasped it and slid it inside her bag. "Though, feel free to ask your own questions."

"Yes, Minister," Hermione repeated, and she stood from her seat and strode out of Kingsley's office, pressing her bag against her side.

Before, all she had to do was supervise the irresolute git, but now… it was all on her. She could picture Riddle laughing at her, the whispering voices in that room teasing her, leading her to his mocking and vile grin, pulling her towards the darkness before she could say a single word. And she was not even downstairs yet.

With the troubling thoughts circling around her mind, her legs were shaky, as though a Jelly Legs Jinx was cast upon them. As Kingsley said, she's a Gryffindor, she should not be afraid of a defenseless man without his wand. But that defenseless man killed, strove to eliminate her kind, one who even attempted to murder a one-year old baby.

It was not fair that this vile man could return whilst those he killed rotted, and while those he wanted to kill, or those whose family members he killed, cried themselves to sleep at night in fear that he would return. And here he was, young and smirking. To her, he is the anti-Christ with a Chesire, tantalizing grin.

Yet, an important lesson she had learned throughout her years on alive, life is simply not fair.

So there she was, knocking once again on the door that began to haunt her nightmares, waiting for Nott to open it again.

In an instant, a relieved Nott was at the door. "Good you're here. I have a date tonight, and I really have to go."

"Oh," Hermione said, a half-smile pressed against her face. "With who?"

"Uh, you remember Daphne," Nott said, his hand reaching behind his head.

"I do," Hermione replied. "Have fun then."

"Thanks," Nott muttered, holding the door open for her. She entered, and Nott swept away before she could bid him farewell.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward once again into the empty, isolated room of nightmares. The wards flowed around her body as she walked through, and she felt his eyes almost immediately upon her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Riddle greeted.

"I'm surprised you know the time of day," Hermione retorted as she saw him once again sitting upon the steel chair.

"It isn't difficult, you see. I can tell from how dark your eyes can be during the morning, and how Nott flinched at his watch the whole time he was here today, tracking down the endless time, waiting until he can leave and fuck his date." Riddle smirked.

"You're vile," Hermione snapped. Riddle said nothing as he watched Hermione walk into the room and sit down in the opposite steel chair. "But I would like to ask you a few questions."

"No, you may not," he responded without blinking an eye.

"But you're under custody-," Hermione started to splutter.

"And that does not mean I have to say a damn word, does it?" Riddle sneered, his dark eyes glowering at her.

"I-I suppose not, but I will pose the questions nonetheless, and you can feel free to answer," she informed him, unconsciously adjusting her posture as she pulled the questions out of her bag.

"Might I say my congratulations, or are they really in order?" Riddle said, and Hermione blinked.

"For what?" she questioned, her heart racing.

"The ring on your left hand, wouldn't that mean you have a forthcoming engagement?"

"Oh, that," Hermione muttered as she began twisting her small, but elegant, engagement ring.

"No thank you?" Riddle mockingly gasped and pressed a hand against his chest. "I'm appalled. I thought that you were the polite one of your little, pathetic trio."

"Enough," Hermione groused, and she held the questions from Kingsley in front of her face.

"Fine, on with your stupid questions, on one condition," Riddle said, waving his hand.

"What condition?" Hermione asked, her foot beginning to tap against the ground.

"I get to ask you questions in return for each one you ask me," he informed, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

"Why? Why would you want that, of anything?" she questioned.

"Oh, is that your first question? Then I suppose the game is on." Riddle smirked at her victoriously and continued. "Because I need some sort of prize, and there is not much the Ministry or you could offer me is there? And I require entertainment from this boredom. The voices within the confines of this room are becoming tedious, full of annoying drivel. I've heard it all before, and now I desire to know something new."

"Fine, onto my first question," Hermione began.

"No, it's my turn. What you said before, that was a question, it counts," he snapped. "Who are you engaged to? If it's Potter I may vomit."

"No, it's not Harry. His name is Ron," she replied, but Riddle waved his hand for her to elaborate. "Weasley, Ron Weasley."

"Ah, the freckled, ginger Weasel, I remember him well. He seems quite like your subordinate," Riddle remarked.

"Excuse me?! Ron is not my subordinate. Only you have subordinates," Hermione countered. Riddle said nothing, but gave a simple nod of his head, beckoning her to continue.

"Right, my turn. How long have you been back?" she asked.

"Hmm," he pondered. "I have no idea."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, it's my turn," Riddle reminded, and Hermione grumbled. "Why don't you wish to marry the Weasel?"

"How do you-?" Hermione began to ask, but once again she was cut off.

"My turn," he reminded once more, his nostrils flaring.

"Right," Hermione mumbled. "I suppose because I don't love him the way I should."

"How disappointing," Riddle commented, and stood from his seat and began to pace around.

"Why don't you know how long you've been back?" Hermione repeated, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"You should," he stated. "It's however long I've been locked in this room."

"Oh."

"Do you like being a Mudblood, Miss Granger? Does it please you in some strange way, make you feel superior to others in some sick way?" Riddle suddenly asked, shocking her.

"I am proud of my background if that's what you're referring to," Hermione snapped, and she felt her anger pooling to her head.

"Not the answer I wanted, but it'll do," Riddle muttered.

Hermione suddenly groaned, and Riddle pursed. "I have enough of this shit. These questions are shit, and it's not like you'll respond to any of them properly or subject yourself to Veritaserum!"

"Tsk, tsk, profanities, not what I had expected from Potter's little golden girl," Riddle teased, strolling closer to her chair.

"One thing I'll give you is that you're intelligent, very intelligent. I've studied your file thousands of times, your Hogwarts records, records from the orphanage, everything! But yet, there's nothing!" Hermione exclaimed, standing from her own chair, turning her back on Riddle as her hands ran through her hair. "Screw you! Screw you for returning!" And she flipped back around, her finger prodding against his chest. "Screw you for ever existing in the first place!"

They were a breath's length away from each other, and neither spoke a word, though his dark eyes glanced down at her ring, and his finger drifted over it, as if daring himself to touch it. But Riddle's breath kept growing thicker as he glared at her, his dark eyes piercing through, as though he could read her thoughts, read into her soul. A shiver ran up her spine as she watched as he raised his hands. In a blur, he pushed her against the closest wall.

"I recommend," Riddle sneered, "that you don't say another fucking word."

His grip upon her grew tighter with each second, and her side began to flare up again, a small pain hidden within her. Hermione reached for her wand and blasted him away from her. He slammed against his chair, and fell to the floor, unconscious, but unfortunately still breathing.

"Fuck you," Hermione growled, and while he was still unconscious she kicked his stomach, but he didn't react. "Fuck you!"

She fell to her knees next to him, and her hands went to her head as she grew breathless. Her throat grew tight, and she could feel the tears in her eyes.

"Fuck you!" she screamed, and the tears flooded. She slammed her head against his steel chair, his scent pushing inside her nostrils, but Riddle did not stir.

Now she no longer cared, because he existed. He was cognizant and so was she, yet this time around she was the failure. All she had was the familiar pain in her side reminding her of all that she has ever done wrong.

xXx

Riddle's eyes blinked open as he became aware once more. He did not know how much time had passed. Had he slept? No, the cold floor underneath his face told him otherwise. He never slept anyway. Groaning, he propped himself off of the floor as a sharp pain flared on his back and in the crook of his neck.

His eyes looked up towards the bushy-haired brat, sitting in her damned chair in the corner. She did not care to look at him, and suddenly he remembered what had happened. The fucking minx!

He refused to grant her the pleasure of him groaning in pain anymore, so he furtively sidled himself on his chair, and stretched out his back, willing the pain away. It was a damn powerful stunning curse she had used on him. No matter her dirty blood, he knew she was powerful, a strong force, the perfect thing to feed off of. She would never notice how useful she is to him. He wished someone else could have been in her position. Even the Weasel; his blood was at least pure, and he would not be thinking these thoughts.

'The weasel,' Riddle wished to snarl at the thought of him. Disgusting little, idiotic brat, and he was engaged to that powerful witch. No matter how much Riddle detested those who brought him down the second time, she was powerful, and the Weasel did not deserve to feed off her intelligence and her power.

Her power belonged to him, and she did not even know it.

The minx glanced up from her paperwork and had the fucking nerve to smirk at him as she recognized his pain. Riddle noted the dark circles under her eyes, revealing her tired state. She would not even dare to take a small nap while he was unconscious. Though, he also saw a wetness lingering underneath her eyes. She had been…upset? How strange. Riddle could not even remember if he had ever even cried. There was no use to it, but of course, she is female.

Her eyes drifted back down to her paperwork, and she refused to say another word. No more pathetic questions that her superior drew up. She had been correct in saying that he would not answer her, at least not properly or truthfully. He would only eat or drink food Nott delivered to him. Even if the minx gave him something, it would be laced with potions. Nott was too feeble minded to even do that.

"I'd like to continue the questions we did before, but you must ask me your own questions instead of the Minister's," Riddle suddenly said, knowing exactly what he desired. Her delicious, brown, doe-like eyes looked at him with innocence he knew she did not possess.

"Fine, once I come up with some," she replied, and returned to her work.

Riddle smiled, and it went without her noticing.

No, she did not know how useful she had been.

Oh, but how he could use her.


	4. Chapter 4

These days, Riddle was still a mystery to himself. He had his theories, his reasons how he had come into being, once again. All of the dark magic he had endured throughout his lifetime was admittedly confusing and somewhat muddled. But, oh Merlin, it was all worth it.

His memory remains befuddled, with clouds swirling within the pits he so desperately craves to reach. He knows was supposedly happened to him, he knows how his life had played out, and he knows that he's back. Yes, he is back for good.

He does not sleep anymore. The light and the voices within his room do not bother him, and he has no need for comfort nor a need for sleep. Never is he tired nor drowsy, but he loves seeing Nott's eyes falter during every shift of his. Nott is obviously physically and mentally weak, a perfect subordinate and victim. His father had been a loyal slave, perhaps this one… No, no, he was sided with Granger, thus, Nott would have to be disposed of.

Yet, he no longer recalls the glorious feeling that soars through his veins when a light leaves a person's eyes. He knows who he has killed, and he knows that he had enjoyed it, that he lived and thrived upon the taste and the screams his victims would shriek, and how they would beg, plead for their pathetic lives. But he cannot remember it. Not fully. Not the way he wanted. Not the feelings. He supposed though, that once one has a shattered soul, that feeling that he desires may never be quenched. And since he has been reborn, he has not felt it once, because of that bloody witch and the fucking useless Minister.

It was all her fault in the first place, and she then dared lock him up! In a place that could truly test his sanity, so now she knew, that he had none left. But he didn't care what she thought, no, he had plans. She was only a pawn lying within his game of chess.

Unfortunately, he needed the damn witch. If he had the choice, he would have chosen anyone else, someone without her threshold for intelligence and spite. Preferably a pureblood. Hell, he'd even take a slimy Malfoy. He knew he could break her though, erase her independence and make her his, but he hated being dependent upon her existence. It sickened him how refreshing it was when she was in the room with him, how alive he feels. He would have even taken over that Weasley girl again. She had been very useful those many years ago. Of course, she had been young and susceptible, without a clue. Now she had fucking Potter protecting her.

Though, it would be nothing answering the mudblood's questions. It no longer mattered what he revealed about himself to her, not even he knew how to destroy him this time. Horcruxes, how beautiful they were. No, her questions meant nothing, but his questions meant everything. He needed to grasp her and her consciousness. The more she revealed, the more he could break her into millions of shiny, sharp pieces.

Riddle could leave the damn Department of Mysteries whenever he'd like. He just wouldn't. Not yet. Granger had to fear him. She has to be able to shiver whenever his name is uttered, whenever the thought of him crosses her mind. She isn't allowed to be numb. No.

And he needed to know more about her, just like she needed to know more about him, how he came back. Perhaps, she would give him insight into his sheer madness. She'd kill herself though if she knew, and he can't have that.

Yet, the way he had come back into being, he had not even known it had been possible, and cannot fully grasp this concept or what it exactly was, how it was done. He simply knows the gist and theories. His theories though were normally correct. When Potter had flung his own curse back towards him, his old body, Riddle no longer had hope, and hope was once a thing he had used to wish to crush within his pointed fingertips. But then, it was gone, and he had been floating away from Hogwarts with screams in his blood red eyes, until he could see his body lying upon the cold ground of Hogwarts, the only thing he could ever say, or will ever say, he loved.

And his soul, though small, fragile, screaming into the deep darkness that was the end of the world, was sewn together in ways he never imagined, and ways he wished to comprehend. There was now only a portion of his original infant self left. Though, he wished he could live without a soul binding him to this ground, forcing him to wander among other humans. Definitely, he would make a deal with Satan, but how can he? When he is already the devil himself.

xXx

What does one ask the devil? Hermione wondered to herself. Kingsley, at least when it came to other people's personal issues and personalities, was useless. Yes, he was a genius when it came to politics and managing the Wizarding world, but, Hermione felt no guilt in saying his drawn-up questions for Riddle were utter shit. It was as though he printed out the guidelines for an interview for a position for a Muggle job.

Riddle was bound to yell, snarl, and he was prone to violence. He hasn't raised a hand to her, not yet. But if he was in possession of his wand, everyone would surely all die. Though because of the other night, Hermione was disappointed in herself. She was the one who had lost control. Not Riddle this time. She regretted it. Now she thought that there was no way Riddle could take her seriously anymore. Thankfully, Nott and Kingsley had shifts that day and the day previous. Hermione did not have to worry about seeing Riddle until the morning.

Yet, he still remained keen on her asking him questions while he asked her questions in return. It was interesting and peculiar of him. Psychologists would have had a field day. His behavior was not how she would have predicted it to be. At times, he was calm and suave, other times; he was an angst-ridden, bigot. She knew that he carried all of his memories, but it was as though he had never matured sometimes.

Hermione's hands ran up to her hair and pulled it back in a ponytail, a few strands gracing against the side of her face. Her face scrunched up as she scratched another question onto her parchment.

A whoosh then sounded from her fireplace within her living room, but she did not lift her head. It was only Ron. It was always Ron. His feet thudded throughout her flat, but she did not make a squeak, he would find her quickly. The door to her bedroom clicked open, and Ron peaked in.

"You ready?" Ron asked.

"Hmm," Hermione muttered, her eyes scanning over her parchment, hoping that Ron would give up and leave her alone. After this, she had wanted to relax, sink into the comfort of her bed, for she had an early shift in the morning. Ron groaned, and without looking up she felt him sit upon her mattress.

"Mum invited us for dinner tonight. Remember?" he reminded, annoyance dripping into his words.

"Aw crap!" Hermione exclaimed, pressing her hand against her forehead. "I forgot."

"What does Quentin Bulstrode have you working on now that takes you away from me?" Ron asked sadly.

"Actually, it's an assignment from Kingsley," Hermione let slip. "It's brutal."

"But that's great, good opportunity for you I guess," Ron said. "I'm just, I guess, annoyed with Kingsley for doing this shit to you. You're always so tired and you can never do anything anymore. And Mum wanted to talk about the wedding, and Harry and Ginny were gonna come over to the Burrow too."

Hermione moaned to herself, her lips shaping into a frown. "I-I'll come."

"Really? Because you don't have to," Ron added, his ears perking up like a dog's, and if he were a dog, he would no doubt be furiously wagging his tail. For, he always craved his mother's home cooking, take-out food and easy prepared dinners were simply not enough for his bottomless stomach.

"Yeah, just give me a few minutes," she requested as she started filing her questions away. She supposed that they'll have to do for now, they were not going to get any better, and Riddle probably would not allow her to ask all of them quite yet.

So soon, she and Ron flooed to his parent's home whilst Hermione was anxious, thinking about the parchment she had left behind, thinking about Riddle. How he was just sitting there, in his damned steel chair, smirking and never sleeping.

Mr and Mrs Weasley greeted her warmly when she and Ron entered the Burrow, but they had unfortunately arrived before both Harry and Ginny. Mrs Weasley squealed with delight and instantly drowned Hermione within her litany of thoughts about her and Ron's wedding ceremony. Hermione found herself faltering in and out of space. Ron should have let her sleep if she were to listen to this nonsense. She loved Mrs Weasley with all of her heart, but her overbearingness was annoying, especially with trivial matters such as this.

Thankfully, Harry and Ginny soon swooped in, and Mrs Weasley moved onto her own blood-related daughter, talking endlessly over Ginny's pregnancy after she congratulated Harry. Ron was busy talking with his father, and that left her and Harry alone. Every moment she spoke with Harry, she was filled with a saturnine guilt. He deserved to know everything, but Kingsley always refused.

"Hermione!" he greeted, and enveloped her within a hug.

"Forgot to give my congratulations to you, but I'm so excited for you guys," Hermione told him. "It's riveting!"

"I'm still in shock myself," Harry replied, mindlessly adjusting his askew glasses.

"Any name options?" Hermione teased.

"Yes, actually," Harry informed, his voice taking on a serious tone. "Tom Marvolo."

"What?" Hermione blanked, suddenly feeling light.

Harry's mouth formed a grin, "Just kidding, but, uh, I suppose you'll know when the baby's born. Ginny thinks that if we tell our prospective names, that you all will look at it with disgust, so when the baby is born, no one can complain about its name."

Hermione felt the blood rush back to her face, and she smiled. "Oh yeah, my mum was the same. Though she claims when she saw me, she just knew I was Hermione Jean."

Harry grinned, but before he could speak, Mrs Weasley ushered them all to the dinner table, and Hermione found herself thrown into yet another conversation about weddings and babies. As the conversation went along, she found herself simply nodding and agreeing to whatever Mrs Weasley said. It was not like she was getting married anytime soon. There was no need to begin planning, especially because of work and Riddle, there was simply no time to spare for it.

Finally, she and Ron were able to leave at ten, and he gave her a kiss goodbye before he parted for his own flat. No matter how much she loved spending time with these people, she did not have time, she had her responsibilities and Riddle to fret about.

But she knew one thing for sure, from the happy look upon Harry's face, and the gleaming in his green eyes, and the child growing within Ginny.

The Aurors ought to know, and they ought to know soon.

xXx

Hermione was back, staring at him. He had not moved nor had he even flinched or blinked his black, crazed eyes. Riddle was waiting for her to speak, to utter a single word. But she was not ready, and yet she had to be.

"Good morning, Tom," she said, her mouth a flat line.

"Good morning, Granger," Riddle reciprocated, his head tilting to the side as he studied her.

"You're not bothered by the name your mother gave you?" Hermione pondered, leaning closer to him.

"Is that a question?"

"Well, that wasn't an answer," she snapped.

"It means nothing coming from your slippery lips, you use it to get a rise out of me, and I shall not let you. You can play your insipid games with someone else," Riddle answered.

"I see, you wanted your questions, didn't you?" Hermione reminded.

"My turn."

"But I-."

"My turn," he ground out, and his eyes glinted red before he relaxed back into his seat. "I've been thinking this over, and I wish for you to tell me, how did it feel to get your Hogwarts letter as an eleven year old girl?"

Hermione swallowed her breath that she did not even realize she took. What game was he playing. "I-it felt satisfying, as though, I finally knew I belonged somewhere, that my parents would see me as someone special instead of a-," and she paused.

"Go on," he pestered, his sadistic grin returning.

"A monster," she finished, pressing her lips together, sensing his eyes looking at them. He opened his mouth to speak, but she won. "My turn."

Riddle nodded, "Very well, go on, little monster."

Hermione glared at him as she pulled out her parchment, and she felt his insane, boggling eyes wander to it. "Why did you settle for horcruxes, while you could have found other options?"

He clicked his tongue. "The simplicity of the process. I assume you understand that murder is nothing to me, taking away a life is pleasurable even. And making the horcruxes would ensure that I would return if and when harm came to me, and here I am, returned for a second time as though the world craves for me to survive endlessly and youthfully."

"Nothing! It doesn't mean shit to you that you took someone's life with a wave of your wand?"

"Oh," he teased. "My dear, I could take yours just as easily."

"You're sick," she sneered.

"You say that like you're healthy," he mentioned, his tongue sliding over his top lip. "My turn, dear. Why did your parents think you a monster?"

"Before," she began, but paused, inhaling the swirling air and the giggling voices around her, "Before I knew magic was real, that I wasn't making it up, I caused bad things. I was bullied in primary school. It was all minor, until one time when I was seven, this girl was picking on me, like she always did, except this time, I had had enough of her crap. I wanted her gone."

Hermione's voice cracked as the memory came rushing back, she could not breathe, and her throat swelled, and she knew that this was pleasurable to Riddle.

"Do go on, I'm enthralled," he encouraged.

"Her face had suddenly sunk into itself, into despair and pain. She twitched from the inside out, the pain was controlling her, and I couldn't stop it. It was me, but all I could do was scream. I didn't mean for it, but it lasted forever until teachers came running and my other classmates surrounded the two of us. The pain subsided when one teacher quieted me," Hermione elaborated, and the tears strolled down her cheeks, and so she began to wipe them away.

"Please, I beg of you more," Riddle persisted, and Hermione sighed, looking away from his imperturbable gaze.

"The girl became insane, never returning to a normal school. Throughout the years I have checked in on her, and nothing has changed for her since that day. When I had told me parents the story when I returned home that day, they were afraid of me. Before that, I had shown my capabilities with the silliest things. The teachers at my school became afraid too, but they couldn't prove what I had done, and they had pathetically been my only friends. Soon, my family and I moved, but it wasn't the same. I became cautious from then on, kept to myself and my books, until the letter came, and I knew I could finally learn to control myself," Hermione finished and bit her lip, staring at her twitching feet.

Riddle had watched in sick yearning as Hermione finished her story and the tears continued to fall down her cheeks, down down down. He wanted to taste her salty tears. Oh, he had been wrong about Miss Hermione Granger. So wrong indeed.

Hermione began to compose herself, and she started her next question without looking towards him. "Did you consider other precautions for immortality?"

Riddle took a moment before replying, "I'm sure you know of my quest for the Elixir of Life during your first year of Hogwarts, which Flamel had destroyed after your precious Potter fought myself and that worm, Quirrell. But besides for that and Unicorn blood to restore myself during that time, no. It was horcruxes only. Unfortunately, I had not been able to form seven, and seven being the most magical number…" he began.

"You never knew did you?" Hermione questioned, wiping the remaining tears away as a victorious smile took over.

"What are you talking about, girl?" he snapped, sitting ever the more straighter in his steal chair.

"You had seven horcruxes, but you were so broken and in disrepair that you never realized!" Hermione exclaimed, her tired, saddened eyes widening in realization.

"You lie, there were only six, and you and your filthy friends and Dumbledore destroyed them," he responded with a hiss.

"No, you see, Harry was a horcrux, that's how he survived in the forest, you killed the piece of yourself within him! It's perfect, isn't it?" Hermione mocked. "And you never knew."

Riddle did not utter another word, but his eyes glared daggers towards Hermione, and his lips twitched. He was burning inside, and he was shaking. He studied his flinching hands in front of them, how they craved to wrap around her throat, for he had never felt such an urge to murder her, and just when he was beginning to appreciate her meager existence, she had to tell him, she just had to. She was more like him than she believed, for she tasted the sadistic pleasure out of this, and thus, she could be potentially dangerous. He would have fun, but in all due time.

Finally, he opened his mouth. "I have enough of these questions for today. Pester me another time."

And Hermione knew she won as Riddle thought of his life to come.


	5. Chapter 5

Some days, it was difficult for Hermione to remember what her actual job was. She stared at the paperwork on her desk. When had Bulstrode given this to her? Two weeks ago? These days, her mind was so preoccupied with Riddle that her duties simply slipped away. If only Riddle was assigned to the whole department, then maybe Hermione could retain some of her sanity, even just a tiny, red thread.

She desperately needed to know how he was re-created, then she, or anyone else really, could finally put an end to him. Once he's gone, she can finally stop worrying about Harry, whose head she knows is hurting again; by the way his hand flinches, ready to touch his burning scar. So she can stop worrying about Ginny, who is pregnant with a child who should be born into a world of peace, and not terror, destruction and disparity, and Ron, her fiancé, her best friend. None of them deserved to suffer any more than they already have. Voldemort needed to be exterminated by any means necessary.

It was then, that Quentin Bulstode opened the door to her office. He was a dumpy, corpulent man, with tired eyes and a face enveloped in five o'clock shadow. A cigar would always bob in his mouth, lit or not, and his hair was a dull brown, like pieces of straw lying on the top of his head. She felt a trickle of sweat drip down her neck as he entered her office. No doubt he was here to collect upon her assignment, of which she had made absolutely no progress.

"Granger," Bulstrode's scruff voice grumbled, a cigar bouncing in his mouth, making his normally rotund cheeks look like a chipmunk's. "Did you complete your assignment? I was expecting it on my desk this morning."

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I didn't," Hermione apologized. She nibbled on her bottom lip as Bulstode's faced scrunched up, making him reminiscent of a pug.

"You know, Granger, I had high hopes for you, but now, you're throwing your future away. Your past three assignments, late, unorganized, and not at all like the work you've done for me in the past. Now, you couldn't even properly clean up Goldstein's mess from last month," Bulstrode commented, his hands swinging back and forth. "I have to say I'm disappointed. I had pigeonholed you as the future head of the department when I finally retire. But now, I'm not so sure."

"Sir, I-," Hermione began to protest, standing up from her desk.

"Fix it, Granger, or I'll get someone else to," Bulstrode warned, and his fat finger pointed directly at her face. "One hour."

"Yes, yes, sir, thank you," Hermione said appreciatively. Bulstrode gave her a nod before swinging around and closing the door behind him. Gulping, she looked down at the stack of papers on her desk, the papers that now symbolized her future. Head of the Department! That would fulfill a dream, and she'd be damned if she'd let Riddle ruin that for her.

Miraculously, after an hour's work, Hermione finished. It was amazing to her how much work a person could get done on a project in one hour that was supposed to take two weeks. She scurried the papers to Bulstrode's office, the papers flinging in her hands. He only nodded when she found him and handed them in. Immediately he threw another manila folder into her hands. A new study.

"Kingsley issued this to me, both you and Nott will be working on the project," Bulstrode informed her, and Hermione nodded as she felt a smirk forming along with a small, barely noticeable pain in her side.

Thank Merlin for Kingsley.

xXx

Back at her flat, Hermione pressed upon her parchment, attempting to ignore the swelling pain in her side, growing stronger by the second. All day long she simply worked, researched, anything at all to distract herself from the pain after Bulstode gave her her "new" assignment, but it only worsened. She tried to remind herself that it meant nothing, that it would always mean nothing. It was only a small remnant of a war, a long over war.

She pinched herself on the arm, trying to concentrate the pain there, but her side was only aggravated further, and she could feel the rage burning inside of it. Her mouth uttered a low whimper as she tried to hold back her tears. The pain refused to subside, and it continued to grow sharper, as though a dagger was inside her, pushing itself out. She threw her parchment off of her bed and crumpled to the side, her hand feeling over the horrid, evil pain as laughter filled her mind.

Cold, cold laughter, a deep chuckle. She shook her head. No, no, no. No. But he continued to laugh unremittingly as the pain grew stronger. His face filled up her mind, and he was smiling his grin of one hundred daggers.

He was menacing. A horror that infiltrated an unwilling world and her unwilling mind. Evil disguised under a perfect face. An evil that could be released. The face begged her, taunted her and calmed her all at the same time, waiting for her release. Hermione did not know what was happening to her. She felt her body enter a paroxysm, but, her eyes remained shut, fixated on the face in her mind, that laughing face. She squirmed on her bed, her mouth was open. Was she screaming? Crying? She did not even know anymore. This was only a nightmare, a nightmare that must dissipate into nothingness. Soon.

Oh Hermione, the voice mocked. Soon, so, so soon.

The laugh was interrupted when her bedroom door flung open, and she realized she had been weeping. How much time had passed? She heard a clock ticking loudly in the corner, ticking away at her fate as the laughter faded to darkness.

Her eyes forced themselves open, desperate to see light, desperate to escape the misery that must have existed for hours. And there was Ron, frozen in front of her, his own sympathetic eyes flooded with panic and worry.

"R-ron?"

"Hermione, is it your side again? You were screaming," Ron asked as he finally moved and crouched next to her. Weakly, she nodded her head, and Ron ran his finger across her face and brushed a bushy lock out of the way. "How bad is it this time?"

"Bad, so bad," she muttered, letting her face sink into his hand.

"Don't worry, I'm here," he reassured her, and he leaned towards her and pressed his chapped lips upon her forehead, and she blinked away into darkness as the laughter filled her mind again.

And then she faded.

xXx

Riddle was furious and fuming. That night, Hermione Granger had laughed in his face, just when he had taken the upper hand, just when he had finally felt victorious against the woman. He paced within the innards of his cell, the voices assuring him that he still was supreme. But how could he be supreme? When Granger was all but right. Of course Potter had to be a horcrux, it all made sense now. The prophecy made it meant to be.

Currently, Shacklebolt was standing in the corner of the room, his frown glowing in the darkness. All Shacklebolt would ever do was stand or sit and simply stare at him. Not one word had even been elicited from his stern lips. One time, Riddle himself had tried to get the man to speak, only so that he could taunt him further. Yet, all Shacklebolt did was grunt in response.

Naturally, Riddle did not give a damn. He would rather not talk to the glowering man who treated Granger as his secretary. If Riddle was Granger's master, he would have treated her the way he treated Bellatrix Lestrange, with a tad bit of respect, but if she'd disobeyed, he'd certainly punish her.

Of course that would only be if Granger was not a Mudblood.

How he despised the fucking witch though. He would strangle her if he could. No, she deserved a different type of murder, one much more delicate, precise and seductive. Murder, to Riddle, was a beautiful thing, if treated intricately. People like Granger deserved a beautiful death, one to go down in history books so that she would be remembered. Even though she is only a Mudblood.

It had to be perfected. She would be tied up against the ground. He would use a special, sharpened knife, clean, pure and never used. He would slice it through her arms as he paid careful attention to her scars, and he would trace it across her neck delicately as he ruined her porcelain doll skin with the blade, licking the blood away as she would weep and beg. He would then wait for her to slowly die and wither away like a rose after its full bloom. It would be perfect. Those like Potter though, did not deserve such beauty and intricacy in death. A simple Avada Kedavra would do him just fine. Riddle simply wanted him gone.

Now, if Granger had been a pureblood, he would have forced her to be one of his, but she's Potter's.

And that was a fucking disappointment.

So naturally Riddle remained furious and in a rage, and Shacklebolt received the brunt of his rage. As anger fuels the remaining bit of his soul, and the thought of Granger enrages him. It sickens him how whenever she is in the damned room with him, he feels more powerful and put together. He does not understand why, perhaps it is the influence of the room. He simply needs to know whether it is the same for her. He knew one sick and depraved thought for sure. He needed the Mudblood. Whether she liked it or not. Then, he would kill her.

He can get over her cackles, especially once he is out of these confines. When he chooses to leave, she will be forced to submit to him, along with all of the rest of the filth of the word.

For her porcelain beauty deserves to feel pain.

xXx

Hermione's eyes blinked open, and brightness blinded her as a blurred figure came into view. She was no longer in her flat; she had no idea where she was, except that she was surrounded by whiteness. Blinking her eyes, a figure's head gleamed orange, and she knew that it was Ron. It would always be Ron.

"Hermione?" his voice echoed, ringing through her ears, and all she could do was grumble a reply. "She's awake!"

She immediately heard feet shuffling around her, and an unrecognizable person was in view along with Ron. She blinked her eyes a few times as her vision cleared.

"W-where am I?" she mumbled.

"St. Mungo's," Ron chirped immediately.

Her eyes widened, and she sat straight up in her small bed. "What?"  
"Yes, Miss Granger, your fiancé brought you here because of the immense pain in your side," the other figure, whom she assumed to be her Healer, said. "Everything is stable, but we did some tests and we found something lingering within your bloodstream."

"What?" Hermione asked, and Ron squeezed her hand, but she pulled away from his choice of comfort.

"Remnants of dark magic. We redid some tests we had done in the past, and this cropped up, but the specific magic is unidentifiable. It could be a lingering curse from the war, which caused this crippling pain. We will look into this further, I assure you, Miss Granger," the Healer answered.

"T-thank you," Hermione quipped.

"Why couldn't you find that before?!" Ron practically yelled, his hand squeezing down on hers tightly, and she could not escape his grip this time. "She's been suffering for years and-."

"Enough, Ron," Hermione interrupted, prying her hand away from his and he relented. "It hasn't done anything to me for years, anything permanent. I'm still alive."

Ron frowned, and the Healer looked uncomfortable, and Hermione could tell that she was debating whether or not she should leave the room.

"But-," Ron tried to protest, but Hermione shook her head.

"When may I be discharged? I have a shift at the Ministry soon," Hermione asked as she took a quick peak at the Healer's watch.

"You may leave whenever you'd like," the Healer answered. "We already gave your fiancé some potions which will hopefully help to alleviate the pain now that we identified a probable source. It will hopefully also begin to remove some of the remnants, but it is all admittedly guesswork. If it does not help you, it will do nothing at all to the rest of your body, so no need to fear."

"Thank you very much," Hermione said, and the Healer warily left the room. Hermione stretched her limbs and stepped out of bed without any more pain swelling in her side.

"You should stay the night," Ron suggested.

"No, I'd miss far too much work," Hermione replied as she began to change out of the hospital raiment.

"I already owled Bulstrode for you, take the day off, it's well deserved. And who knows, maybe it's your damn job that caused this pain," Ron snapped.

"I'm going to work whether or you like it or not, Ronald. It is far too important!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Apparently more important than your health!" Ronald yelled, slamming his fist against the bed.

"Yes, it is far more important than my health, far more than you are capable of understanding!" she shrieked. "Where's my wand?"

"Hermione, please-," Ron attempted again.

"My wand," she demanded, her foot tapping on the ground. Reluctantly, Ron sighed and handed over her wand.

"Just take it easy, please, for your own sake," he asked of her as his chapped lips formed a small pout.

"Fine," she griped before storming out of the room with a final glare at Ron. She stomped away passing by familiar, distant faces in the hallway. She look around for a safe spot, and she apparated away from the hospital as the memory of the cold, cold laughter crawled into her mind.

xXx

Riddle smirked at her as Hermione entered his room. Neither of them said a word as she sat down in her usual chair. He shifted himself in his own seat as he studied her presence. He folded his hands under his chin and leant forward, his eyes glinting a bright red.

"My turn," he said, his tongue caressing each word. Uncomfortably, Hermione swallowed the air around her as she nodded her head. "How do you feel when you're in here?"

"So you're not furious? You still want to play this silly game?" Hermione pondered.

"Yes, yes, answer the question before I refuse to speak again. How do you feel when you're in here," he pestered.

Hermione creased her eyebrows. "I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what you mean. My emotions? I feel disgusted, furious, curious, and hateful; the list goes on and on."

"That is not what I meant. Rather, how you feel within yourself, not emotions, but how is your magic? How is your state of being?" Riddle clarified his hands moving with each word to emphasize his meaning.

Hermione pondered this to herself for a moment. Normally when she has been in the room, she has felt less tired and a bit stronger. Sometimes she would feel a dull pain in her side, otherwise, she did feel powerful. But how any of that was relevant to Riddle was beyond her.

"I suppose I'm more awake and my magic does get more excited, if that's what you mean," she hesitantly answered.

Riddle's smirk grew more wicked before it panned out. "Good."

"Why?" Hermione questioned. "What have you noticed, Riddle?"

The air around them grew colder in a flash. "You mean you haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Don't you hear it calling?" Riddle pestered, and his tongue traced his top lip gently. "It's ubiquitous within this room. Magic. Power. Dominance."

"So you feel stronger in here too?" Hermione pressed.

"Not always, only when the situation is specific," he answered teasingly, and he paused. His eyes scanned over her trembling body, his teeth biting down on his bottom, thin lip, leaving her in an utter state of suspense. "Only when you're in here, my little monster."

Hermione's breathing grew shallow, but his eyes pierced into hers, glinting a murderous, striking red. Her mouth parted, and she could see Riddle's tongue sliding over his teeth. Murder, power and magic was creeping through his mind. He was a threat, a simple, evil threat. Yet, the darkness was pulling at her. He was pulling at her.

"You're imagining things, Riddle, it's all in your head," she deadpanned, ignoring the fact that he called her, his little monster, she was not his nor a monster. She was only Hermione, a soul that belonged to no other.

His head began furiously twitching to the side, and the veins in his neck pulsed. His face scrunched up until he was reminiscent of a demon, his true inner self.

"I'M NOT IMAGINING THINGS!" Riddle yelled, and his twitching hands gripped the edge of the chair before he pushed himself up and stormed towards her until he was standing right in front of her chair, his body hovering over hers, and a spasm of pain hit her side. "You are! You're so ignorant with your pathetic, muggle ideals and beliefs. You don't understand! You're just a fucking little monster!"

Hermione immediately whipped her wand out and pressed it against his stomach, but he seemed unperturbed by her action until she stood, pushing him away from her.

"Do you want to see how powerful I am, Riddle? What a little monster I am?" she mocked as she guided him towards the edge of the enclosed room. "I'm the one with the wand."

Riddle's face fell once he hit the wall. Now, he was a caged animal instead of the incarcerated prisoner. Though no fear lurked in his eyes, and Hermione could see the beginnings of a chuckle looming upon his thin, pale lips.

"A wand assists a wizard's powers, but without a wand a wizard remains unrestrained. Rather the practice of wielding a wand may enhance magical development while holding back a wizard's true magic, so a wand is not a necessity for the practice of magic, little monster," Riddle quoted verbatim, and Hermione froze.

"The Flaw of Wandlore by Markov Holstaff," Hermione croaked.

"Indeed, so you live up to your bookworm reputation," Riddle indicated as his hand traveled towards her wand arm. His long fingers gracefully held onto her wrist, and he slowly maneuvered her wand away from his stomach and pushed himself off of the wall until he was a breath's length away from her face.

"I do," Hermione concurred.

"Speaking of," Riddle drawled, his suave demeanor returned, "I'd really love a book."

His hand was still gripped onto her wrist, and he began tracing circles on her in an almost comforting gesture. But he was anything but comforting and loving.

"Sit down," Hermione ordered, and Riddle backed away, slinking back to his chair.

Hermione carefully retreated to her own seat as Riddle eyes followed after her, a new appreciation swimming within the blackness while Hermione was filled with a new fear. '…so a wand is not a necessity for the practice of magic." He practically revealed his intentions to her. The caged animal knew how he would escape and when. His intentions were wandless magic, a practice Hermione researched in depth, but was never able to fully grasp. Of course, Voldemort, of all people, was able to do it. He just wanted a show.

xXx

Nott arrived to relinquish Hermione from her duties not long after her incident with Riddle. Without greeting Nott, she shuffled out of the room to search for Kingsley. Riddle's words haunted her, and his eyes glinted redder each time she saw him.

A wand is not a necessity for the practice of magic.

A wand is not a necessity for the practice of magic.

Riddle was powerful, strong and fearful. Another war was looming within his eyes, and that thirst must not be filled at any cost. If he rises, everyone else will fall. Riddle is the venom that poisons that world, and she, not just Harry this time, must stop him.

Her feet carried her to one home she has always known, a home that exists anyway she may go. The Library. The librarian, familiar with Hermione, greeted her with a smile before returning to his work as she entered. She scanned among the bookshelves and located the title she needed, The Flaw of Wandlore by Markov Holstaff. She held the book against her chest and hurried towards the librarian.

She left the library, and on her way back to the Ministry, she shuffled through a few chapters. Pages were folded, and some handwriting was scrawled within it, on the pages dealing with Wandless magic. If Riddle had perfected this, the world would be in severe danger.

Back at the Ministry, she rushed to the Minister's office in quick haste. Once she reached his office, she drew a deep breath and threw open the sturdy door that has now become so familiar to her, just like the door to Riddle's room.

Startled, Kinglsey looked up from his desk. "Miss Granger this is hardly appropriate."

"The Auror Department must know now, arrange the meeting because Riddle is going to escape," Hermione commanded.

"How do you know this?" Kingsley demanded. Hermione pulled out the large tome out of her purse and slammed it on Kingsley's mahogany desk. Kinglsey looked from Hermione to the book, his face trying to hold back any show of fear.

"Does Markov Holstaff ring a few bells?" Hermione snapped, "Because Riddle quoted him, meaning he's studied wandless magic, extensively. We both know that Voldmort does not do anything lightly. So there's not much keeping him within that room. He must have been taking down the wards without you, me or Nott ever noticing a single thing. It's why he doesn't sleep, his magic is too strong, and we have to squash it," Hermione informed him. "Or we will all die."


	6. Chapter 6

Theodore Nott's day was absolute shit. His boss, Quentin Bulstrode had once again chastised him for not handing in another assignment on time and for avoiding his normal duties. Apparently, Kingsley's 'new' mandate to Nott and Hermione was not enough for Bulstrode to cease pestering Nott. Bulstrode seemed to have left Hermione alone for the meantime, but not Nott. And his girlfriend, hopefully soon to be fiancé, Daphne Greengrass, wanted him to meet her parents. Normally, this was a good sign in a relationship, but Nott knew that with Daphne's past two boyfriends, they had broken up not long after meeting her parents. On top of that, he had to babysit Tom fucking Riddle daily. It was enough to turn any man insane.

Now, it was time for another endless shift alone with Riddle, and Nott carefully entered the room as Hermione, his associate, rushed out. His eyes never steered from Riddle as he passed through the wards. He was always careful inside the room and always attentive to each one of Riddle's actions. But then Riddle surprised him.

"Hello, Nott," Riddle said in greeting. Nott's heart almost stopped. Riddle spoke for the first time to him, and his voice was like an elegant song, twisting and winding, pleasing any human ear with its soft baritone nature. It was now no wonder to Nott how Riddle had achieved so many followers who obsess over him and any word he may utter with the tip of his tongue.

"R-riddle," Nott stuttered, almost tripping over his feet in surprise.

"Calm down, Nott," Riddle urged, and with a swoop of his arm towards the other chair he continued, "Please sit."

Tentatively, Nott sat across from Riddle, whose lips formed a thin smile. The air surrounding them was uncomfortable, and Nott knew something was wrong. The voices swirling inside the room were laughing, a great difference from their usual taunts. This room was slowly ripping away Nott's own sanity, and he prayed for the day that this silent suffering under Riddle would end, so that he could return to his normal, humdrum of a life, one with Daphne. But no, Voldemort ruined Nott's life and so many others the moment he was born.

"So you wish to talk to me today?" Nott asked cautiously.

"Yes, I do," Riddle calmly stated, crossing one leg over his knee as he slouched in his seat.

"Good," Nott said, "Would you like to tell me how you came to be here? That's all the Minister wants to know."

"Hmm, that's all is it? Well, I have been thinking about that, Nott, a great deal, especially right before you came in here today as Hermione chose not to speak with me for a bit, you see, I had infuriated her. But I do believe I have come to a plausible theory," Riddle revealed, and Nott's eyes widened.

"Do, go on," Nott encouraged him, feeling antsy and curious, but curiosity never failed to kill the cat.

"I don't believe I will, you see, I don't wish to talk about that," Riddle uttered, and he stood from his chair.

"Very well," Nott muttered, standing from his own chair so that Riddle could not intimidate him. "What would you like to talk about?"

"You know, your father was one of my best servants," Riddle commented, and Nott flinched at the mention of his devil of a father.

"Guess he was, but he was a shit father like you're a shit leader," Nott snapped, his fists tightening.

"That exact opinion is why we can't get along, Theodore," Riddle sneered.

"As I asked, what would you like to talk about?" Nott repeated.

Then, the devil incarnate tilted his head, and his hooded eyes turned into vicious daggers as Riddle shot his hand out in front of him. In an instant, Nott was sent flying against the steel wall. Nott groaned in pain, and felt his body sliding up the wall while a ghostly hand tickled his throat.

"Rather, you will do the talking, Theodore," Riddle ordered, his fingers clutching the air.

"W-what do you want to know?" Nott groaned, his voice a raspy whisper. A small track of blood dripped down the side of his face, and he had to spit some out of his mouth, or else he believed that would suffocate faster.

"Everything about Miss Hermione Granger."

xXx

Hermione paced outside of the conference room within the Auror Department. It took a few hours, but Kinglsey was able to arrange the meeting Hermione requested with Harry. Most of the aurors in the department were able to come, but Hermione was nervous over the meetings outcome. For weeks, she had ideas of how the Auror Department could assist them, but now she was unsure of exactly what she would say to all of the aurors gathered inside, including Harry and Ron. What would they think? Ron would yell at her for keeping secrets, and Harry would enter into a rage over Riddle. Neither of them would understand that it was not her fault. Kingsley was the one who wished to suppress the truth, not her. But now Kingsley was in there now, and she would never know the specifics of what he was saying to the group of them.

Kingsley then opened the door and ushered Hermione inside, with a deep breath she collected herself and entered the room.

"Miss Granger will now speak to you about Riddle. She will be in charge of the rest of the meeting and all of you will do whatever she says. Theodore Nott is her partner, and the same goes for him," Kingsley instructed, his dark eyes issuing a warning.

Hermione then stood in front of all of them, her lips pursed together as she stood stock still. She recognized a few faces in the crowd, but Harry's and Ron's stood out. Their faces were ashen, and worry was crippling the both of them. Neither said a word.

"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger, and this situation is of utmost importance. For about a month now, we have held Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Voldemort, in captivity" she began, and the room was silent, each person holding on to each word she spoke. "I now have reason to believe that he is planning an escape. An escape that could happen at any time. Even now. During the time we have held him in captivity, either myself, the Minister or Nott has supervised him. That will continue, for we cannot let Riddle know that you all know about his existence or let him be suspicious of anything different. But now there ought to be aurors positioned outside of the Room of Voices, of which he is currently held, four at a time to maintain top security. Others will go and interview past known associates, or descendants of associates, like the Malfoy Family, the Parkinson Family and so on. That also goes Death Eater currently incarcerated in Azkaban. Any questions so far?"

"Yeah," one auror snapped, "why didn't we know about this sooner? A month! That's fuckin' ridiculous. This is fuckin' Voldemort you're talking about!"

"Alfred!" Harry warned from the back of the room as his fist slammed against the conference table.

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said calmly. "That you can thank your Minister for. He did not wish for the information to be disclosed, for he still held onto the ridiculous notion that Riddle could be a fallacy, fraud, or anything of that sort. But he's not. I have no doubt that it's him."

"I do not like your tone, Miss Granger," Kingsley cautioned.

"As I did not like you hiding this from the rest of the world!" Hermione snapped as she turned around and pointed her finger at Kingsley. "People could very well die! This is Voldemort! He is not a joke."  
"I do everything for the best interest of the people-," Kingsley retorted.

"Not this time, Kingsley, and I still believe that he should be put to death," Hermione said, in a more calm tone, and she began to address the rest of the room once again. "But our Minister wishes to figure out how Riddle came to be, which is why he must remain alive for now, so we can prevent him from returning again. Any other questions?"

"If I may interrupt," Kingsley interjected, ignoring the few raised hands. "None of you are allowed to speak of Riddle's return. As Miss Granger mentioned, Riddle should be put to death, but only as soon as we discover how he returned. Otherwise, the world still may be in danger. If Riddle is to escape, all controversy will be pointed towards myself, and I will face any and all repercussions. All of you are simply doing your civic duty."

For a few seconds, the room was silent, until Hermione repeated, "Any other questions?"

One woman in the back raised her hand, and Hermione nodded for the woman to speak, "What do you mean that you know he is planning an escape?"

Hermione paused as she glanced at the anxious looks in the room before informing them, "I speak with Riddle. Earlier today he quoted a passage from a book I have read, The Flaw of Wandlore by Markov Holstaff, inferring his usage of wandless magic. I have no doubt that he has mastered this form of magic, so an escape is imminent."

Another auror spoke up, "So you're sending us in like pigs for slaughter?"

Hermione's voice croaked when she tried to speak again, and she saw Harry flinch out of the corner of her eye. She ran her hand through her bushy hair, trying to regain her coherence and any trace of simple thought. She was not like that, sending people into battle, sure of their death. She simply wanted to protect the world and eliminate Riddle before he became the slaughterer.

"I-I-" she tried to stutter, her face beet red.

"Bloody hell, she's not," a harsh voice spoke up, and she saw Ron, suddenly standing in the middle of the room. "We signed up for this position, trained for it and strived for it to eliminate terrorist threats like Voldemort and Death Eaters. Don't cower out now. Jameson, you were a Gryffindor, so don't go saying Hermione is sending us in like pigs for slaughter when you know she would never as a fellow Gryffindor. We're here to fight and protect, so I suggest you shut up, you fucking twat, that's my fiancé who has ten times the amount of brains than you do."

Then, Ron sat down with a huff, and his fellow auror, Jameson, had his mouth gaped open at the accusation, unable to say another word. Hermione mouthed a thank you to Ron, whose ears turned red.

"I suppose we should get to it then. Nott's shift is ending in a couple of hours, so I suggest we begin the first shift. Erm, Harry, Ron, maybe you guys could start the first one, with two more aurors, I'm sorry, I'm just not sure of everyone's names," Hermione suggested, and Kingsley nodded his head in agreement.

"Right then," Harry announced, standing from his own seat. "Alfred and Jones, you two are off with me and Ron. Jameson, time for you to visit Azkaban, stay there for the night, supervise and speak with any Death Eaters there. Midgen and Li, start interviewing known associates and so on. The rest of you, return to your regular assignments until further notice."

All of Harry's subordinates nodded their heads and began disappearing left and right to go do as he said. Harry and Ron approached Hermione along with their other two lackeys, Alfred, the one who cursed at her earlier, and a woman with the last name Jones.

"Lead the way," Harry urged, and Hermione began to scurry out of the room with the four others in tow. She waited for either Harry or Ron to begin scolding her for keeping it all hidden, but neither said a single, damn word. It began to frustrate her. She needed to hear them yell at her. This whole situation was wrong, and surely Harry would have wanted to know Voldemort had returned, surely Ron was furious.

Before she knew it, her feet had led her to the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, which was darker than usual, with no lights guiding their way, bringing a chill up her spine. She was getting closer to that, oh, so familiar door with Riddle smirking within its confines. Yet, something was wrong.

Hermione pulled her wand out in front of her, and let its tip shine with light, and she noticed the aurors behind her doing the same. She pointed her wand towards the ground, noting a trail of red liquid leading down the opposite corridor. Immediately, she bent down and purposefully got some of the liquid on the tip of her wand and brought towards to her face.

"Blood," she whispered to the darkness. The aurors were immediately alerted. "One of you check the door at the end of the corridor."

Quickly, Jones began to dash down the corridor towards the, oh, so familiar door Hermione indicated to her. Jones turned the knob and it opened easily, a feat which should not have been possible without Hermione, Kingsley or Nott. Jones turned around and faced them, unsure of what to do.

"Shit," Hermione snapped, and she ran towards the door with the others following her. Inhaling a deep, well-needed breath, she entered the room, the wards now non-existent, and she saw him.

Nott was lying on the floor, his face bloody and mangled, like a vengeful Hippogriff had scratched his face. He was unrecognizable. His body was flinching up and down in a paroxysm. He was entering an injury-induced shock. Hermione ran towards him and crouched next to him, immediately brushing strands of hair away from his face, and the four aurors surrounded her in a semi-circle, all of them viewing Nott with worry and fear.

"Hey, hey, Theo, it's going to be okay," Hermione said to him in a soothing tone. His hand reached out, as though he could no longer see, and Hermione gripped it, rubbing small circles on his palm. "What happened?"

Nott tried to open his ripped mouth to speak, but blood dripped out from the edges, covering his already unrecognizable face.

"It's okay, Theo, you don't have to," Hermione urged, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead to calm him, and show him he was loved.

Cautiously, Nott pushed Hermione's hand away, and he barely coughed out three words, "Voldemort…Left…Injured…"

With those last words, Nott's body started to enter a seizure, and Hermione screeched, "St. Mungo's NOW! Jones! Alfred!"

Startled, the two aurors lifted Nott's body with a spell and guided him out of the room, leaving Hermione, Harry and Ron behind on their way to St. Mungo's.

"Riddle," Harry said, "We have to find him."

"It's unlikely he has left the department, the wards are too strong against him, they'd take hours to take down. The trail of blood must have been his," Hermione stated, her eyes not looking away from the damp, bloody puddle in which Nott's body had lain just moments ago. "We follow it."

Ron offered his arm to Hermione, and she gripped it to helplessly pull herself off of the damp, red ground.

"Hermione," Ron started to say.

"Not now, Ron," Hermione ordered.

"Hermione, listen," Ron snapped, and he gripped her arms and turned her to face him, his face calm. "Nott will be fine, we're magical remember, so get out of your stupor. You have to lead us through the Department, no one knows it better than you. I just think that maybe Voldemort could have gone to the prophecy room, y'know."

"Of course," Hermione agreed breathlessly, "the prophecy room."

"So the trio's back together," Ron said, and attempted to smile to placate her nerves, and he brushed a few strands of her hair out of her face. "Look, Harry and I know that it wasn't your fault that Voldemort was kept a secret. It's Kingsley's, that rat bastard. We're just worried about you, Hermione, and honestly, this just explains everything, and I'm sorry for not realizing that you were stressed, and for good reason too. Fucking Voldemort's back."

Hermione felt a few tears coming to her eyes, and she was simply thankful for Ron's reassurance and understanding. Harry simply nodded his head in agreement in the background, though his eyes faced a different part of the corridor, and his wand was held out in front of him as he looked for any sort of movement. Hermione was thankful for her friends, her friends to the end.

"Thank you," she said, and Ron planted a kiss on her forehead, and Hermione escaped Ron's grip with a new fire running through her veins. She dashed ahead, running towards the prophecy room as Harry and Ron followed in her stead. After their escapade to the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year, the room had been partially rebuilt. Some prophecies were unable to be recovered, but knowing Riddle, he would be desperate to find any prophecy relating to him in the slightest. If not, the room still held a certain significance to him, and Riddle was always one for dramatics. Just as Ron must have thought, the trail of blood led directly to the prophecy room, as if waiting eagerly for the three of them to open its door.

Hermione twisted the door's knob that Harry had seen so many times in his endless dreams during fifth year. Once the door opened, she noticed more blood lying on the ground, traveling in a wavering line to the back of the room, where the three of them saw an unidentifiable dark mass against the wall. Quickly, they ran towards it, its shape becoming clearer as they grew closer, their wands held out in front of them. The trail of blood continued to travel against the back wall, but paused to form perfectly shaped letters.

Once Hermione was close enough to the shape to know what was plastered against the wall like a moose's head, she wanted to scream, vomit, fling herself against the wall and cry for the world. It was Theodore Nott.

Theodore Nott's eyes were scooped out, leaving only empty dark sockets gushing with an endless stream of blood. His neck appeared broken and shattered, with blood dripping against its side and down the rest of his stark, naked, pallid body. His head was bowed down as if in defeat, but his hands were stuck together as if he was in prayer during his final moments. But, no, it had been Riddle.

And next to his body were two cursive words perfectly written in Nott's blood:

Hello Hermione.

xXx

Tom Riddle looked down at his two latest victims. Currently, he was in an alley near St. Mungo's, with his victim's bodies on the floor next to him. Oh, how the Killing Curse never failed him. He bent down and searched through the man's dress robes and snatched his wand. Riddle always preferred the use of a wand, though he would need to find a new one that suited him, but the dead man's wand would do for the moment. No more Priori Incantantem.

Riddle waved the wand over his body and removed the extensive glamour charms that he had worked on for over an hour to convince his Hermione of his ploy. By now, she must have found the real Nott in the prophecy room, for she never failed to please.

Riddle wanted to laugh in victory, not even Potter had recognized him, disguised as a mangled Nott. Hermione had even pressed a kiss on his forehead. Yes, she thought he was someone else, but it was the thought that counted, as with the littlest of presents.

Normally, he would have just killed Nott and left, but with the Ministry warded and protected with intricate magic, it was safer to be guided out by Ministry officials. His plan had been foolproof, and he believed that a little note to Hermione would be, oh, so pleasing, for this was only their beginning, not an end.

With one last thought to Hermione, Riddle used the dead man's wand to then change Nott's clothes into something more suitable.

Once satisfied by the black dress robes, Riddle apparated out of the alley with only one thought in mind.

Dominance.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione was frozen. Frozen to the core, and she could not escape the feeling that everything was wrong. That's because everything was. She was rocking back and forth after Ron and two others had left…with Theo's frozen, bloodied body. Harry stood beside her, a comforting hand on her shoulder as she was unable to control herself. So she wept. She wept for Theo, for his life, for his family, for everyone he left behind. For his dreams, for every word that he ever said to her, for every breath that he ever took. There was no bringing him back, she knew that. But it didn't mean that she didn't want him back. She needed him back. Because his leaving meant that there was now a war. A third war, as if the lives lost in the past two wars meant nothing. Nothing at all. Voldemort would keep coming back again and again and again to relinquish new torture every time, and more souls would continue to be lost.

But in this war there was a new target rather than Harry. And it was her. She looked up at his message on the wall written in Theo's blood. She was next. He was going to kill her.

With her head bowed to the ground, she uttered to Harry, "Harry, bring Ginny to the safe house. Please."

She could sense his normally soft features clenching into anger as he begged, "No, I need to fight. This is my battle! This is my enemy!"

Hermione paused as she turned around and stared into his startling green eyes that were filled with woe. "Not this time. I'm the target now. I'm next! So you keep her safe! She's fucking pregnant with your child. So bring her to the damn safe house where she'll live. I'm the Secret Keeper, and I will never tell a soul."

He relented, "I'll keep her safe, but I'm not making any promises about myself."

"I know," she said with a small smile, and she shook her head. "You're too much of a Gryffindor." She then heard thudding footsteps. Ron was coming back, and Theo was gone. Harry's warm hand left her shoulder, and she quickly bowed her head back towards the ground, unable to look at Ron and see the pain unfolding in his eyes. Harry's face had already been too much to bear.

Hermione listened as Harry left to do as she said and keep Ginny safe. Word had been sent with another Auror to the Daily Prophet, so now everyone knew that Voldemort had returned. No doubt people were fleeing the country in panic. A small portion of Hermione wished she could as well and pretend that she had nothing to do with the Wizarding World. But even if she could do that, she never would. The fight was burning within her veins. It had during the last war, and it would always continue to burn. For she was a warrior who was ready to bleed.

The faint sound of Ron's wet breath tickled the back of her neck. He was kneeling next to her, too afraid to face her and witness her suffering. She noticed how his head tentatively reached towards her and found her shoulder.

"I-I'm sorry about Theo, I knew you two had become close," Ron said in an attempt to comfort her.

No word came out of Hermione's mouth. She couldn't speak. Perhaps it was because if she didn't say it out loud, just maybe, it could all still be a sullen nightmare.

"Look, Hermione," Ron said, his voice louder and gaining more life. "I want to get married."

"We are getting married," she mumbled into her hair.

"No, you don't understand. I mean now, I want to get married now," he elaborated as his hand gained a tighter clutch on her shoulder.

Her face whipped around in shock, and she finally saw the sadness in Ron's eyes.

"What?!"

"I love you, Hermione, and this fucking war is here, and if we don't get married now, who knows if we ever will. I may fucking die, and my love is so fucking strong for you like bloody mad, and I don't want to die without it being known," Ron rambled angrily as a tear fell out of his eye.

Slowly, Hermione reached her hand out towards Ron's long face, her dainty hand covering his cheek as she wiped the tear away before cupping his face. Her lips formed a sad smile while his much larger hand clutched hers helplessly.

"I can't," she croaked. "I simply can't marry you, die, and leave you a widow. If I die, I don't want you chained to the memory of me."

"You say that like you know," Ron indicated, his voice choked.

She paused and bit her bottom lip. "I do. I do know. He's after me."

Instead of saying anything, because Ron could not deny it, he could not assuage her fears, he bent his head down and touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back tears. So Hermione closed her eyes too, so that for a while, she may forget.

xXx

Voldemort cracked his neck as he walked forward, embracing the cold, dank air that surrounded him in a foggy mist. Souls were being taken all around him, by the cadaverous Dementors whipping through the air as it was their feast. It was a good thing that his soul, at least what was left of it, was protected. For he finally had figured it all out. He simply had some business to take care of.

At the entrance to Azkaban, a Dementor swooped in front of him, and paused with its head titled in slight recognition. Voldemort smirked.

"You must recognize me, don't you, even without eyes you smell your master," he indicated, and the Dementor nodded its hooded face and moved out of his way, allowing him entrance.

He embraced the view of the prison, thankful that he never had to spend any large amount of time inside its walls, even though the caverns of his mind were reminiscent to it. He listened, and found pleasure in, the moans and groans of those incarcerated, their sanity practically dissipated. He waved the dead Auror's wand in a long, fluid motion, and the doors to the animals' cages opened. Their insane, hooded, tired eyes looked outward, and their creaky, weak limbs stood and carried them to the outside. All of his followers looked towards him, and he saw no signs of recognition.

When all eyes hesitantly looked towards him for his words, curious as to whom their savior was, he spoke. "It is I. Your Lord Voldemort."

Some jeered, others catcalled and whooped as he continued, with a Sonorus charm pressed against his neck he continued to speak to his mindless slaves. "You may not recognize me, but I do come in any form, and I am your liberator, Your Savior! Your Lord! Those older and frailer, you must recognize me as I once was. Your sick minds are not deluded in this vision."

One older, graying man in his late seventies, with arms and legs as thick as toothpicks pointed towards him. "It is our Lord! Only in a younger form! I attended school with him, and I know his face anywhere!" he indicated with his weak, groggily voice. Immediately, Voldemort recognized him as a withered Lestrange. To the other Death Eaters, Lestrange was a figure of authority in times of Voldemort's absence. They would always listen to any word he would say, for he was the wisest of them all, and a long time follower.

Voldemort smirked. "Thank you, Lestrange."

And his followers cheered. Always one for a show, he bowed to his audience who simply continued to whoop, exclaim, and cause menace around them.

"Silence!" he commanded, and in a second the only thing he was able to hear was the swirling air and slow, desperate breathing. "Lestrange, come to me."

The elder Lestrange bowed to his Lord before he began approaching him. Once he was in front of him, the man bowed and kissed his feet willingly. Some followers' loyalty would never waver.

"Your return is a miracle, my Lord," Lestrange practically cooed. "How did you reappear so young?"

"I am only young in body Lestrange, not in mind, and it is thanks to many things of which is no concern to any of you," he informed and Lestrange nodded, regretting questioning his Lord of anything. "Tell me the state of my Death Eaters."

"Yes my Lord. Those of us who survived the battle ended up incarcerated over these seven years. The Aurors were relentless, and with Potter on their side, they were quick and smart, able to subdue us easily. I'm not sure of everyone who is here, but I had noticed some who died. Like my son, Rabastan a few years back, unable to handle the conditions. He was always of weak flesh. Others who have passed that I have noted were Avery Sr., Amycus Carrow and Rowle," Lestrange quickly informed.

"I see," Voldemort deadpanned.

Then all fell silent as Lestrange waited to be addressed again. But soon out of the corner of Voldemort's eye, he saw a glimpse movement in one of the offices of the prison. His whole head slowly turned, and he saw some dark, ragged blonde hair propped against the glass of the office window.

"Come with me, Lestrange," Voldemort beckoned. The two of them headed towards the office, Voldemort's black cloak swooping out behind him as though he were a king, and that is how he felt. With the stolen wand he opened the door and entered, seeing a man muttering to his wand in the corner. An Auror no doubt. Of course they were sent here after his escape, or even right before, as Hermione would of course jump the gun in resistance. Obviously, these efforts had been too little too late.

The man looked towards him in fear when he noticed the two of them. Voldemort even noticed tears cascading down his face. How weak he was.

"There is no need to fear, little boy, I will kill you," Voldemort said with a merciless smile brimming his features. Again, he cracked his neck as he approached the man and knelt next to him, noting the wisp of blue smoke emanating from his wand. "A Patronus message?"

The man spat in his face, but Voldemort wiped it away, not even caring for the man's 'noble' sentiment.

"You will do something for me. Send a message along with your Patronus, before I kill you. Take it as a warning for your simple-minded cohorts," he said, and bent down and whispered two words into the man's ear, sickening the man with his words. The man's throat was swelled and tears left his saddened eyes as he repeated the message into his wand. Without any pause, Voldemort lifted his wand and snarled, "Avada Kedavra."

Then, he pried the man's wand out of his cold, dead hands and passed it towards Lestrange.

"Use this and get to Ollivander's. The others will surely need wands. I fear a battle is approaching," Voldemort commanded. "Before you leave, there is one thing you must spread to the others."

"Yes, my Lord," Lestrange said, awaiting Voldemort's next words.

"In the case that such battle approaches us all, no one is allowed to harm a fucking hair on Hermione Granger's head. She is mine. I'd rather have her kill them," Voldemort hissed. Lestrange bowed in accordance to Voldemort's wishes and quickly left on his mission.

It was a third war, and Voldemort would do anything to win and conquer the world. He had lost twice, and he'd be damned if he lost a third time, especially to Potter, who would certainly lead his Aurors into battle. Again, Hermione would be at his side, and this time Voldemort needed her.

Hermione would be his.

xXx

The next morning after Nott's death, Hermione and Ron had soon found themselves back in the Auror Department with Harry at their side. Harry had taken Ginny to the safe house as Hermione had requested, albeit Ginny's unwillingness. But she was now safe, and that was all that mattered. He had even taken the time to hide Mr and Mrs Weasley with her, Fleur, who was on her third pregnancy, and her children, Teddy Lupin and anyone else he knew who may be vulnerable. He had also sent out warning to the rest of their friends, something that Hermione wished she could have helped with. Most of them ended up being eager to fight if the now brewing war traveled down that path. Those who were, were now with them in the Auror Department, eager to defeat the undefeatable man. Harry was one of them, and still assumed that Voldemort still wished to kill him and fulfill whatever 'prophecy'.

Kingsley was speaking to all of them, telling them of the dangers of the war, and making sure that the new recruits were ready to fight to the death if necessary. There were hundreds of people stuffed inside the cavernous department, and in ways, it was miraculous how many wished for peace, even though they had to fight to get it.

Everything suddenly turned for the worst as a blue mist seeped into the room and warped itself into the shape of a jackrabbit. A voice drifted out of the now corporeal Patronus, and worried looks spread throughout the department.

"Azkaban has fallen," it said in the voice of an Auror she had come to know as Jameson from the meeting earlier. "I think it is Voldemort here, and the Dementors are now sided with him. I am in hiding, and I hope to return safely."

The Patronus did not continue to speak, but instead she heard a jumble of noise sound from it, and those around began to grow nervous, praying for the man who was speaking to them.

"They're here. Tell my family I love them," the Patronus whispered in a choked voice.

Another long pause.

"He says, Hello Hermione."

Jameson disappeared into oblivion as the Patronus disappeared forever, only to be remembered by the weeps that arrived as it left. Hermione crumbled. The whole room turned to look at her, but she could not say a word to their saddened faces, blaming her for Jameson's death. And those faces were correct, for Jameson had even said to her just yesterday: 'So you're sending us in like pigs for slaughter?' And he was one of the first to be slaughtered. He had a family; a wife and a little daughter who would mourn him.

Hermione bit her lips as she looked at the faces around her. She rid her mind of the depressing thoughts. This was a war! And now these people looked towards her, she had proclaimed herself a target, and to them she was a leader. Instead of sitting there like a simpleton, she walked towards the front of the room where Kingsley was standing, and he allowed her to stand with him.

"Jameson's death is unfortunate, and I am so sorry for those of you who loved him. Yet, unfortunately, this is a war, and there will be casualties. Some of you here may very well die, including myself, for however long this war may last," she began, almost like a General. "For now, we know Voldemort's location. Azkaban. He is definitely turning it into some sort of base, and he now has the Dementors under his command just like in the last war. If you all can cast a Patronus, and a good one at that, I say we fight. The Death Eaters that were incarcerated must be weak, and practically defenseless. There is a chance that Voldemort is providing them with wands, but this is a time where his allies are most vulnerable, Dementors or not. I say we fight, and we eliminate his followers, which honestly, we should have done seven years ago."

Whooping cheers followed her speech, and Hermione bit her lip as those around her clapped. Before she knew it, Kingsley began speaking again, agreeing with her plan, and ordering that tonight, they go into battle. People who were not Aurors began signing a list saying they would enter battle, so that their names would be recognized and in case some died, it would be easier to trace their identities.

Hermione's hand unconsciously touched against her side, sensing a small comfort and happiness within it. It was strange, too strange. 'Hello Hermione,' a soft voice whispered inside her ear. Her head twitched, and she swerved around, but no one was close enough to her ear to have whispered to her. She began to receive curious looks, and without caring, she gripped portions of her bushy locks to push the words out of her mind. 'You're mine,' it continued within the crowded room, splitting her logical mind into two, 'Mine!'

She did not want to admit how much it sounded like Riddle's smooth, intoxicating drawl, or how the voice brushing against her ear felt like a ghost of Riddle's lips whispering to her. She was simply growing insane. Perhaps she was even too used to Riddle's presence.

Soon, she looked up and saw Ron approaching her, so she had to shake any thought of Riddle and his taunting voice away, and bring in thoughts of Voldemort in order to talk logically and reasonably with Ron. Whatever she had been imagining was impossible and illogical.

Though…Riddle had never said she was his. Never.

No, it was only her driving herself insane.

It must be.


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone was prepared and ready to strike. For hours people had been coming and going, practicing their dueling against one another, and gathering their bearings before a likely death. No one wanted this war, but they all would fight anyway. For it was right and just in their minds. The Auror Department had successfully recruited many wizards and witches, young and old. The amount of Aurors the Ministry already had simply was not enough people. Hermione recognized many of the recruits from her school days. There were Neville, Luna, Seamus, Parvati, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Cho Chang, some of the Weasley brothers, and even Millicent Bulstrode (of course her uncle was Hermione's boss) to name a few. All of them were desperate to put an end to Voldemort's terror.

The main goal though was to simply incapacitate Riddle, against both Hermione and Harry's wishes. Kingsley had informed the bustling crowd that they needed to know how Riddle returned in order to prevent him from coming back...again. Hermione knew Kinglsey was right, but it didn't stop it from feeling so wrong. Hermione could see vengeance tickling Harry's tongue. He thirsted for Riddle's blood to pool around his feet, while Hermione yearned for his voice to leave her head and for the pain in her side to finally be eradicated. Riddle was getting louder, and the dull pain in her side was persisting. He had not been saying much and had mostly been laughing. Though once he was dead, she would be fine...she hoped.

Since the previous night, his voice ran through her mind. She could not decipher whether or not it was her paranoid imagination dreading the worst. Or if it was out of her control. No longer was she sAfe inside her mind. Either her sanity was crumbling, or she was.

When it came time, Harry and Kingsley assigned groups. Five would be in a group, and each group would appear at different parts of Azkaban with the use of a Portkey. Hermione got put in a group with three Aurors and Ron. Ron had naturally coerced Harry to place him in her group. They'd be appearing in the middle floor of Azkaban to fight their way out. Harry's group with Kinglsey would be attacking from the front in order to lure Voldemort to them with Harry's mere presence. No doubt he'd want the Boy-Who-Lived to be dead under his pale, sickly feet. Harry's strong Patronus was also necessary to drive out a sure stream of vicious Dementors thirsting for their already damaged souls.

The time came to leave at dusk. Hermione eased herself with soothing breaths and ignored Riddle's voice. Ron gave her a reassuring smile, bent down and pecked her lips.

"See you on the other side, eh, Hermione," he said with a goofy smile, which tried to divert her attention from the pain and worry in his eyes.

"See you on the other side," she reciprocated with a sad smile. Then both she and Ron, along with the other Aurors, grabbed hold of the tissue box acting as their Portkey. They swirled.

In a moment, the five of them were thrown to the hard, cold ground of Azkaban Prison. Hermione looked around. They were situated in the middle of the endless hallway, surrounded by the open cells lacking life, as it always does. It was dark, dreary and sinisterly quiet. All she could hear was rats scurrying around and nipping the dank, nauseating air, which smelled of shit and death. She caught a glance of a shaven, bloodied rat out of the corner of her eye lingering in a cell, instead of a prisoner. Every cell door was opened. No human was around. Though there were signs of humans having inhabited the area. The grey stone walls within the cells had stains of blood and semen alike. Some prisoners had even written on the walls with their bodily fluids. She saw the graffiti written in a whole myriad of things, from 'Fuck the Mudbloods' to 'Kill Potter' and 'Our Lord will Return.' It was haunting and sickening, but only furthered Hermione's purpose.

All of them pushed themselves off of the ground. In an instant, all of their wands were in front of them, and two of the Aurors cast lumos to light their way.

"No one's here." one woman said in a soothing whisper.

"Do we go to the front?" another man questioned.

"Wait," Hermione ordered and held a hand up to quiet them. 'Homenum Revelio,' she thought. Her vision changed, and within the light cast by the two Aurors she could see a dark fuzz around blurred figures. The true rats. They were hidden by strong Disillusionment charms. Hermione glanced around at her comrades, and they soon noticed the figures as well. Immediately they backed against one another, each person facing a different part of the corridor. Looking around, Hermione noted six figures. None said a word. So she did.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA," she yelled, and elegantly waved her wand around, indicating the surrounding cells. Explosions roared around them, attacking each cell. Blurred figures flung themselves towards the ground as the walls crumbled. She noted that two were suffocating under blocks of stone, But her comrades were unaffected.

A voice rose above the ashes, "I'd call that cheating, wouldn't you, Miss Granger?"

"Hardly," she snapped as her head pivoted towards the voice. A blurred wand traced over the blurred body, revealing one bone thin Lucius Malfoy.

"Welcome to Azkaban," Lucius greeted, and he bowed to them as several curses flew from behind him and towards them. Hermione conjured a shield in front of them, and the curses hit it at the same time and the shield absorbed them before beginning to falter. Behind her the others flung wordless curses towards Lucius, but he seamlessly blocked and dodged them. "It's so good to have a wand. I still have to thank my Lord."

"Go fuck yourself," Ron growled, but Lucius only smirked. A smirk which seemed less menacing without his fancy, ornate attire, perfectly coiffed hair and pimp cane. All he had were rags and a no doubt scarcely used wand. Hermione almost pitied him. Almost.

Hermione's shield finally dissipated after the impact of the curses, and the other Aurors ducked out of their circle and pivoted towards the other blurred figures to engage them.

Lucius took this opportunity to cast another curse. The silver spell hit Ron, slicing his chest. Ron's shirt bloodied, and He grimaced while Hermione cast a curse which Lucius dodged by rolling out of the way.

Hermione took the small opportunity and sent a healing charm Ron's way, and his gash bandaged itself while Ron flung another spell towards Lucius.

Suddenly, before Ron's curse even grazed him, Lucius roared, "Incarceous!"

Ron's curse smacked into Lucius, and he went tumbling backwards over the broken stone, his tangled hair flying in the wisp of the air. His ropes had still shot out of his wand towards Hermione. Before they could touch her, she cast Incendio, and they burned into ash.

Lucius rose from the rubble with fury in his reddened, tired eyes. He brought his wand to his mouth and blew on it, and bright, burning flames flew out of its tip in the form of a vast, ferocious, hissing snake. Hermione grabbed Ron and pulled him out of its path.

"Exploso!"Hermione cried, pointing her wand towards an empty wall with a small window to the outside, and blasted the wall open. Pieces of stone flew and crashed against the ground outside, and the winds from that height blew in, and Hermione's hair flew uncontrollably behind her against the gusts of wind. The other Aurors had already killed or incapacitated their opponents. One Auror was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Hermione yelled for him, and soon only recognized him as a bloodied mass in the corner, being enveloped by Lucius' flames, suffering against them, curled like a newborn. She hadn't even known his name. Forcing herself to ignore him, she made sure the others followed her as she ran towards the wall she blasted. She pulled Ron with her and jumped out of the hole, escaping the fiery flames, the others following suit.

As they descended downwards, Hermione regretfully released Ron's hand, and cast a Cushioning charm among the four of them. They glided down, feeling weightless against the angry winds, lowering them into more destruction.

Dead bodies already covered the grey, stone ground. Jagged pieces of rock surrounded her group, remnants from the long gone wall. Blood, smoke and the smell of death was ubiquitous. It clung to her like a parasite. She was never able to fully escape the carnage she witnessed in the first war. This only exacerbated it all. Those who survived the first time were already a dying breed. Too brave and noble for their own good. Like herself. But there was no time to move their bodies and honor them in their final state. Hermione had to get Riddle.

Hermione looked upwards, and she saw the Fiendfyre tickling the edge of the prison fortress. Lucius Malfoy may have been enveloped in the uncontrollable flames. Hermione felt nothing for the cruel man. He had been incarcerated for a reason. There was no time to pause or care.

For around them still was death, of both Death Eater and Auror alike, so they had to escape their own. The battle was bloody and stained. The soulless lingered as empty shells, victims to the Dementors' kiss. Some fought amidst them as if they had no soul within their bodies, like herself. In times like these, one is forced to block out any emotion. Emotion was a simple distraction.

A high pierced scream was heard in the distance, and the Aurors separated from them as they headed into the battle. That was their purpose. Eliminate Death Eaters. Hers? Eliminate Riddle's voice. Ron remained with her, and they witnessed the terrible menace amongst them.

"Come on!" Hermione urged and pulled Ron along with her as they ran.

In an instant, they came towards a Death Eater bending over his latest kill, squishing the woman's face with his feet. The woman was unrecognizable. In death, she was blood and guts, about to be victimized once agian. The Death Eater, whose face was matted in blood, stood up from the body underneath him, and braced his wand in front of him, glancing from Ron to Hermione.

"Incarceous! Crucio!" the Death Eater quipped, and Hermione had the urge to roll her eyes. Again? So she did the same as before and burned the ropes to ashes. At the same time, Ron tried to dodge the Cruciatus, but it smacked into him, and he fell towards the ground, engulfed in paroxysm, and his Stupefy shot off into the sky. Equipped with a burning rage, Hermione shot a vicious spell towards the Death Eater. The man went flying backwards, and slammed against the nearby building. His head smacked, and she could hear it crack open. Again, she felt nothing but a sick sense of pleasure at the man's death

"Merlin," Ron gasped, recovering from the short bout of Cruciatus. Hermione nodded, and she approached the dead woman's body. She bent down and closed the woman's wide, scared eyes. At the closer look, Hermione recognized her. It was Cho.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered to Cho as she tried to think happy thoughts of Cho possibly reuniting with Cedric Diggory. But who the fuck knew what was on the other side for anyone, even those with pure souls. Hermione did not want to imagine where those with souls like Riddle's would be sent to. Surely, it be worse than any circle of Dante's Inferno.

Hermione stood once more, prepared again to fight, her wand faithfully at her side. In the distance, near the front of Azkaban, she saw Harry warding off three opponents, none of them were Riddle. Ron exchanged a look with her, his body eager to run towards Harry.

"Go!" Hermione urged.

"You're coming with me!" Ron exclaimed as he wiped blood from his freckled face.

"No, I'm not! I have another duty!" she yelled back and she began to run away, hearing Ron impatiently groan. His heavy footsteps followed her. She could not have that. So, she whipped around, and blew against the tip of her wand, and a gust of wind pushed Ron away and towards Harry.

"Hermione!" Ron called helplessly, worry overtaking his tone.

"I'm sorry!" she called back somberly, "I have to do this!"

And Hermione took off in a different direction, ignoring Ron's insistent call. She had to find Riddle, so he could kill her, and so she could protect her loved ones, like Ron, like Harry, like Ginny, and maybe the rest of the Wizarding World. Riddle would fight to kill her just as he had fought to try to kill Harry. He would kill her, and yet she would win. But she had to be alone to do it. Ron and Harry would try to protect her, but she had to protect them instead.

She turned, and suddenly a Dementor swarmed her, impeding her path. She could not see its face, but one would say that it smiled when it smelled her presence among the growing death. She braced her wand, collecting her happy memories as it began to kiss her. She heard screaming all around, and thoughts of death filled her mind. The deaths of her loved ones. Failure. Failure. And Riddle's chuckle, exacerbated and loud. Failure. Failure.

"Expecto Patronum," she yelled, but only a wisp of blue spewed from the tip of her wand. "No, no, no, no, no."

She tried again, but there was nothing. Failure. Her happiest memory was failing. Failure. When she discovered her magic was no longer good enough. Failure. She had nothing. Failure.

"Enough," a stern, cold voice commanded. And the Dementor stopped. She gasped and breathed, and the pieces of her soul returned to her body. "I can't have you sucking her soul, now can I?"

The Dementor bowed to the cold face and flew away. She looked up. Her so-called savior was Riddle. He smirked at her devilishly.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted, his tongue languidly rolling over his teeth, as if they were old friends. Just like his note. Just like his message. It accompanied death.

"Kill me," Hermione requested, hiding the tears that tried to leave her chestnut eyes. "I know you want to. And you do anything to get what you want."

Seemingly confused, he tilted his head to the side, "Kill you? Why would I kill you, little monster? You're mine."

"But-, No!"

She couldn't finish, for with a brusque wave of his wand, she was pulled towards him, a breath's length away. She chose not to fight it, he would end up killing her anyway, no matter what words he would say. He has always been a maniacal trickster, and Hermione forced herself to remember that.

Riddle pulled her close to him, and he smelled of danger, but it intoxicated her. He turned her around so that her head was pressed against his chest, and his strong arm was holding her against him tightly, practically suffocating her.

"What do you want from me?" she snapped, but he only ran his free hand through her bushy locks, pulling her closer, as if it was possible. "Tell me."

Then, he answered with his lips pressed against her temple, "You're necessary, you're precious, you're mine."

It sickened her.

"I'm not fucking yours!" she screeched like a banshee as she struggled against his suffocating grasp.

"Such spite, my little monster. But, ah, you see I figured it out, Hermione," Riddle informed her, rolling his tongue over her name as if in seduction, treating it as one would treat a delicate poem, "You're the reason I returned."

"That's impossible," she spluttered. "I would never!"

"Not purposely of course. Magic is always unprecedented, especially dark magic, as you should very well know, you helped destroy my horcruxes after all," Riddle said.

"But how did I-?"

Riddle did not answer, but his lips left her temple to be replaced by his wand. It began stroking against against her jawline. The wand's touch grew sharper, and she felt it cutting open her pallid skin in a thin, deliberate line. She squeezed her eyes shut to alleviate some of the pain. The bright red blood trickled down her neck, and his wand embraced it.

With one arm still wrapped around her, refusing to let her go, Riddle sliced a small spot open on the arm holding her with his wand as Hermione opened her eyes. Without a grimace of pain, he let his strangely normal, maroon blood trickle down onto the tip of his wand, combining their blood. Riddle began muttering an unfamiliar chant, the whispers tickling her ear, and the tip of his wand turned a bright green, the magic exuding in a spiral for a few moments as their blood dissipated. Hermione could feel his content smirk against the top of her head.

"What was that?" she demanded as she began to wriggle against his grip. Instead of answering her, Riddle released her and pushed her away. She stumbled and tripped. Gathering her bearings, Hermione reached for her wand which began to roll away. Riddle had almost seemed to forget that she was even there. He had not even cared to seize her wand. Not that she minded. Not in the slightest.

Once she took her wand, it felt like home, and her magic surged.

"Expelliarmus!" she yelled after she stood. Without bothering to look, Riddle effortlessly flicked it away. Of course his magic just had to be unburdened by the fact that it wasn't even his wand.

"Really now, Hermione? After I so gratefully let you go?"

"I'm not letting you go," she retorted.

"In any other situation that would sound almost romantic, my dear," Riddle goaded with a wicked, teasing smirk.

Hermione bit out a laugh as she fired another curse. Again, Riddle was unperturbed.

"In your demented dreams," she snapped, and he dared to wink.

"If we duel, we do it properly," he said, and he bowed, his dark eyes glowing with an unrecognizable emotion. "Now you."

"I'm not bowing to you."

"Bloody Gryffindors," he said with a roll of his eyes. He directed his wand and whispered his intentions. A little voice whispered in her head, 'Bow.'

'No,' she fought against it, struggling as her body lowered to the voice's whim. But the voice was relentless, growing furious inside her mind. The whisper turned into a stern yell. And she bowed.

"Good," Riddle stated, and the voice, his voice, left her head, "Now we duel."

Stunned for a moment, Hermione watched as Riddle fired the first official curse. A swirl of blue emanated from his wand, and his magic filled the foggy air around them. With a slash of her wand, she deflected it, and it slammed into the nearest wall, an explosion in its wake. Riddle almost seemed impressed. Without waiting, a stream of fire gusted towards her. It wasn't Fiendfyre. Why wasn't it Fiendfyre?

'Aguamenti,' she thought, and the blast of water joined Riddle's fire, pushing it away as it relented against the water's touch. The remaining smoke blew in Riddle's face, covering it with ash.

'Glacius,' she continued, and the stone under Riddle's feet turned into burning ice. His feet slipped from under him, and he fell as he cast another yellow spell. Quickly, she erased it with a simple 'Finite.'

Riddle rolled away from the ice, and jumped to his feet, ready to move like a tiger after its prey.

Hermione cast a shield around her, ready for Riddle's word. Instead of the threatening blood red spell she was awaiting, a thin purple came towards her. It pierced through the shield, and Hermione felt fear. It hit her directly against her heart. She fell to her knees, her body growing weak. Her hand dropped her wand, and it rolled away. Her body shook. She couldn't hold herself up anymore. The rest of her fell and slammed against the ground. She felt too weak to move. Her blood felt frozen. She failed.

"I am sorry, but I really had no time for this insipid little duel," he said as if he were apologizing for being five minutes late to a meeting.

"W-what is this?" she muttered.

"A spell of my own creation," Riddle informed her, and he paced in front of her. "You grow weak and fall into a temporary sleep. It is quite useful, especially in a situation such as this."

"What are you going to do to me?" Hermione whispered, her lips to the ground.

"You'll be fine, my dear. You'll wake up, safe and sound," his sibilant voice informed. He knelt on one knee next to her, and pressed his wand on the soft spot in front of her heart. Her eyes began to shut as his voice soothed her in another indecipherable chant. She started to blink away as rings of a golden spell enveloped her body.

Hermione heard Riddle stand, and then watched through a blur as he shot a red spark into the air. A signal. As her eyes started to relent against Riddle's purple curse, she saw a terrifying, recognizable green in the air. Except it was not one killing curse.

It seemed like millions. All at once. Rushing towards the pit of oblivion.

Maybe she would die.

"Morsmordre!" was the last thing she heard as she filled with a stemming, tremendous fear. As she fell into the deep pillars of sleep, a pair of salacious, thin lips kissed her cheek.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione blinked.

The color white was ubiquitous and blinding. She looked down and saw that she was only dressed in a flimsy, white nightgown, blending her into her surroundings. Where was she? Slowly, she turned around, searching for anything beside the color white. Far ahead, she glimpsed a small dark figure. Believing this to be her only way out, or even a simple clue, she stepped forward. Behind her, the part of the floor she had been standing on fell, leaving behind darkness. Cautiously, she stepped forward again, and that square of floor also fell, joining the other in the abyss. The piece of floor under her began to quiver, and she felt fragments of it splitting underneath her bare feet. Afraid, she began to run.

Every step drew her closer to the dark figure, and more squares of floor fell around her, following after her every move. The figure grew larger the closer she came, and she could see the figure's shape. It began to look like a person wearing a black cloak with a hood, the person's back facing her. She had nowhere else to run with the floor giving out underneath her.

The air around her started to whisper, "Hermione, Hermione," in that, oh, so familiar voice, taunting her as she drew closer to the only other person in this room of only white, reminding her of a mental ward.

Only a few steps more and she'd be right behind the figure, and she hoped that this person would lead her to an escape. Yet, throughout her experience, that was never the case.

And she took her last step and froze. The white floor that had dissipated returned underneath her feet. Unsure, she bit her lip and reached out in front of herself. Her hand gripped onto the hood of the cloak. She pulled.

The cloak fell to the ground in a heap. No one was there. Only the air had been supporting the cloak. Her lips parted, and her breath was one of disrepair, until she felt a soft touch against her shoulder. Immediately, she whipped around and stared into the red eyes of the devil. Voldemort.

He stood tall, a black cloak draped on his shoulders, and he was back to how she had originally known him. No more handsome features or the dark hair she had come to know as Tom Riddle graced him. No more dark eyes, instead this man, or creature, had bright red eyes, slits for a nose, and white, pasty skin. His lips were non-existent, but she knew he was smiling.

"Hello, Hermione, my little monster," he said, his voice a higher pitch than what she had become used to.

"You're back to how you were," she stated. "That loathsome epitome of fright."

"Oh, Hermione," Voldemort said in a pitying tone, and his hand with long spidery fingers caressed her cheek, but she refused to flinch or bat an eye. "We're in your head."

All she could do was stare. Quickly, his features began to melt. His red eyes turned black. His skin grew slightly darker. His nose appeared along with his hair.

"A more friendly form, wouldn't you agree, Hermione?" Tom Riddle stated, his smirk returned, and his hand still lay upon her cheek.

"I did that, I did all of this?" Hermione asked, bewildered. She glanced around the expansive white. She had created that? Was she even here? She surmised it must be a dream, or perhaps more of a nightmare.

"We're in your head, you created this room, you made the floor fall out from under you because you secretly desired to be near my presence. But no, you did not bring me here, nor did you change my form," he informed her, his thumb rubbing circles on cheek, and tracing the slant of her jaw. "I am truly here, in your head. I have been, for years."

"Years," Hermione repeated in a soft whisper. For a long moment, neither of them spoke as her thoughts meandered, as she processed this. It couldn't be, and yet, she knew that it was. It made sense to her. The ever present pain in her side, the voice in her head, the traces of dark magic upon her body. What. Riddle had told her during the battle. It all made sense, but she still didn't understand why. The need to know pressed against her lips, wanting to scream into the white abyss that is her mind.

"Seven years," Riddle clarified.

"How?"

"Horcrux magic, my dear little monster. Such beautiful magic that yearns to protect itself at any cost. This part of me in your head, in your body, is a horcrux," Riddle answered calmly. "Thought you ought to know. My other self wanted to inform you at the battle, I believe, but you impetuous young girl, attacked him. He would have said something while incarcerated, then would escaped, but my other self was not quite sure it was true, you see, he doesn't remember much of our time here."

Hermione felt a tremble across her body, and she furiously shook her head.

"No! No, no, no," she began to mutter.

"Yes, my little monster you see, after each one of my horcruxes was destroyed, the piece of my soul within them flowed to the nearest, greatest, magical source," Horcrux Riddle began, and Hermione gaped, tears daring to escape her eyes, "It was a fail safe to my back-up plan. These years of being trapped within your mind have let this part of me simply think. With any of the horcruxes Potter destroyed, or ones he was near at the time of destruction, the magic in them combined with the part of my soul in Potter, making my influence over Potter stronger. The one Dumbledore destroyed simply dissipated, for Dumbledore was the greatest source of magic, but my soul would not have been able to penetrate Dumbledore because of his self-protection. Nonetheless, if it had, Dumbledore shortly died afterwards, and it would have transferred then to Potter. And you, my little monster, destroyed the cup."

"So!" Hermione challenged, her lip trembling. Horcrux Riddle brushed his thumb over her plump lip, and she let him. He was apparently in her mind after all. A mere parasite.

"You are powerful, and my soul recognized it and jumped into you. After Nagini's slaying by that fool, that piece of my soul also traveled to you. You fostered my growth, I fed on your magic for those seven years, so, so powerful. A greater part of me was in you than had been in Potter or my other horcruxes, so I grew within you. A new body, but my old face. It caused you pain, but a part of me is in your world, the way I looked when I created Horcrux that had been within the cup. I owe everything to you," Riddle finished. He reluctantly to his hand away from her cheek and swooped into a graceful bow.

Hermione blinked. "If what you say is true, and not some nightmare, how do you know all of this? Why doesn't the one in my world? He didn't know about Harry."

"Because only this part of myself remains in you and feeds off of your mind. This part of myself knows all you know."

"Then fuck you!" Hermione shrieked, and began punching his chest."Get out! Get out! Get out of my head!"

Smirking, the Horcrux in front of her flatly replied, "No."

"I hate you!" Hermione said, breaking into a sob, and looking away from him. She collapsed upon the white ground. All this man was, was a taunting Horcrux, fighting for life. But his life took away hers. He was the venom penetrating her blood. The venom of a snake that poisoned her. The venom that had no cure.

"You shouldn't hate yourself," a new similar voice said. She looked up again, and stared where Riddle had been standing, now replaced by someone who was wearing her face. She was dressed in a black, flimsy nightgown, and Riddle's sneer. "We are the same, Hermione. But now it's time for you to wake up, and let the other piece of you live."

The Horcrux smiled and waved goodbye.

And the floor under Hermione opened to an abyss.

She was falling, falling, falling.

xXx

Green. Bright green with flecks of the sun greeted Hermione as her crusty eyes blinked open.

"She's awake!" a distant voice called in an excited tone. "Ginny! Hurry!"

"Gi-Ginny?" Hermione mumbled. Her lips felt dry and chapped, and the air she breathed felt warm. Her vision cleared, and she stared up at a half-smiling Harry, who then gripped her hand. "Ha-Harry."

"Thank Merlin you're awake. Before you ask, you're safe. We're in the safe house," Harry said as he squeezed her hand. Hermione, looked around at the plain room she was in. The safe house. She slowly nodded her head in recognition of the small, abandoned cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Harry was sitting on a simple, wooden chair next to her four-poster bed. She noted that in the room was only a small, white doorand an unused dresser perched in the corner along with a tall lamp. She gripped her beige sheets, and then began to sit up, but she felt a sharp ache on her back, and she groaned. "Easy now, you've been asleep a while."

Listening to Harry, Hermione lied back down carefully, and she asked him in a croaky voice, "What d'ya mean a while?"

"Bout two weeks now," he answered with a sigh.

"Two weeks!" Hermione repeated with a squeak just as Ginny slowly entered the room. "What about the battle?"

Ginny gave Hermione a sad smile and exchanged a look with Harry. She bit her lip, and

Hermione gave Harry another look. There were dark circles under his normally cheerful eyes, his hair appeared grayer than normal, and his bottom lip was trembling. Ginny's hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, she wore a grim expression and a large gray sweatshirt that concealed her pregnant belly.

"What happened?" Hermione demanded. "Please."

Her two friends looked like they knew what her dream revealed, they were staring at her with such pity. If they did, Hermione would let one of them say it, for she felt as if those words would never be able to leave her lips even as an estranged whisper.

"Look Hermione, there were many casualties, more than we had anticipated," Harry started to explain. "These pasts two weeks we were afraid you would be one of them too, if you weren't gonna wake up. The battle had no clear winner, but we-"

"Ron," Ginny interrupted, a sob clinging to the inside of her throat. "Ron's dead."

Hermione's mouth gaped, and her lips began to shake. Newly born tears stuck to the corners of her eyes, as the realization dawned on her. Ron couldn't be. No. She was supposed to have woken up to his blue eyes and grinning freckled face, eager for her to kiss him again. They were supposed to celebrate their survival and plan their next move, not mourn Ron's loss. Ron's loss...

"No," Hermione uttered so quietly her voice melded with the air. "He was fine, he was with me. I-I saved him."

"He got hit with a Killing Curse. We think when all the Death Eaters fired them," Harry informed running a hand through his hair. A lone tear slid down his cheek and landed on Hermione's bedspread.

Hermione shut her eyes and threw her head against the bed post, tears trying to pry their way out of her eyes as her mouth gasped and trembled. Her breath was caught in her throat. She did not want to believe this. Ron would walk into the room any minute, relieved and happy that she was awake. He would brush her hair aside, squeeze her hand, and kiss her forehead. Instead it was Harry that was squeezing her hand, attempting to comfort her. But Ron was gone. His soul had slipped through the air, leaving her behind. She should have been the one to leave him. She should have been the one to slip away. Ron did not deserve what he received. Ginny did not deserve to weep over another lost brother. Molly and Arthur Weasley did not deserve to once again weep over a cold cadaver that was once occupied by the spirit of their son.

"Hermione! You're awake," a cheerful voice chirped in glee. Hermione opened her eyes and tried to rid herself of her tears. Little Victoire had scurried into the room, her long blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders.

"Hi, Victoire," Hermione greeted, pushing her misery away.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Is it Ron? Mummy says he's fine, that he's gone, but that he's with his brother now," Victoire rambled, full of spirit. Hermione could only blankly stare at the little six year old, with such an innocent, concerned face. Hermione rarely saw such pure, unadulterated innocence that she witnessed in Victoire's wide, brown eyes.

"Uh, Victoire, how about let's get some ice cream?" Harry offered, mainly to distract Victoire, who squealed in delight. Harry then led her out of the room, and she did not spare Hermione another glance. Once the door shut, Hermione sobbed. Ginny fell against the mattress and only joined her in their woe.

xXx

Later that night, Hermione was alone once more. She stood in front of a small mirror, staring at her reflection. She tilted her head, and noted the scar lining her jaw. He, the venom within her, marred her with it, as if she was not scared by him enough already. She remember the feel of him pressed against her back as he did it, how gracefully he sliced her with his sharp wand. Blood magic. And she knew exactly what it had been confirmation of. He knew. Before he had suspected, but he knew she was his Horcrux, unlike what the piece of soul inside her told her. The fucker knew. And she despised him. She despised how he could crawl under her skin, enrage her, and turn her mind to ash under his piercing stare.

Hermione threw her fist forward and slammed it against the mirror. Shards of glass crept into her fingers and fell to the floor. She held her hand in front of her face, and watched as blood trickled down her pallid fingers. She imagined it was wisps of Riddle's soul emanating from her veins.

But it wasn't. Though she knew he needed to be eradicated. When it came to destroying Horcruxes she had only learned the two ways. Fiendfyre and Basilisk's venom. Fiendfyre was unmanageable, and it would take forever to get her claws on Basilisk's venom. Yet, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had been rid of the Horcrux within him through the Killing Curse Voldemort cast upon. Perhaps the same could work with her. It must.

Harry had told her that after he had been hit with the curse, he was thrown into a new world, reminiscent of King's Cross Station. Dumbledore had greeted him, and he had been left with a choice, as the piece of Voldemort's soul suffered behind them. He could choose to return to life, or take the train. Harry, being the brave soul he was, returned to life. Perhaps, Hermione would go to her King's Cross.

Without Ron holding her back, there was no other option.

Possessed with her dreadful choice, Hemione hurriedly fumbled for her wand, but paused with the thought that Harry ought to know. There was no Kingsley stopping her from telling him this time. She flicked her wand and transfigured a leg of the wooden chair into a piece of paper, and another into a quill.

Harry, Ginny, or whomever shall see this,

I am a Horcrux, that's why Riddle returned. I had to take drastic measures, I know. If you're reading this note, that means I took the train home or was unable to return.

You'll be able to defeat him now. Easily.

I love you,

Hermione.

Drops of her blood had found their way onto the parchment, but it did not matter to her. She was content with the note and her possible death. She was supposed to die instead of Ron anyway. It only made sense for her to be the next corpse. This whole war was because of her. If she had only discovered the root of the pain in her side, none of this would have happened. Maybe she would have been able to live. Without Riddle around, she could have discovered a way those seven years ago. Ron would not have had to die. Nott would not have had to die. Nor would the rest of the souls lost in the battle at Azkaban. Harry never told her. He had disappeared with Victoire hours ago and did not return to extrapolate on the outcome of the battle. In a way, it was not of consequence.

Hermione still had to die.

Determined out of what she dismissed as love, she pressed her wand against her chest.

"Avada-"

Suddenly, her wand dropped out of her hand, and she looked up in fear.

"I don't think so," a voice crooned out of the darkness. Riddle. He rushed towards her in a blur and pushed her against the wall. He gripped her shoulders, and she struggled against him, but he pressed himself against her. His size held her there, and she was trapped. She had failed. How? How was he there to stop her from what she craved?

"Let me go!" Hermione screamed as she squirmed against him.

"No, I won't!" Riddle yelled against her scream.

"Fuck off! Leave me alone!" she screeched.

"I can't," he snarled. "You're mine. I will do everything to keep you alive. I owe everything to you."

Riddle leaned off her slightly, and stared down at her. The anger upon his face morphed into something she had never seen on him before, but what she could only recognize as awe.

"You're mine," he repeated in a softer tone. "For eternity."


	10. Chapter 10

All Hermione could do was stand there and blink. The words, 'You're mine. For eternity,' whispered repeatedly in her ear, and the horcrux within her seemed to laugh at her woe. Riddle's grip on her grew tighter with each passing second, and his cold breath tickled her face. She wanted to scream, to hurt him, and to flee. But then, they would just end up right back here. It could be a different time, a different place, but he would find her again if he found her this time. There was no escaping him. She wasn't Harry, she wasn't protected by Dumbledore, so she was lost to Riddle, indefinitely. He most likely came into the safe house because of her; their connection must have somehow breached the Fidelius charm, something that was supposed to be unbreakable to an outsider. But, she supposed, Riddle had no bounds, especially with her entangled in his web.

"Nothing to say to the truth, my little monster? Or shall I say, as you most certainly know by now, my sweet, little horcrux," Riddle said like a lover, and brushed a few locks of her hair out of her face. She continued not to speak, and all they did was stare at one another. He knew that she knew. And she knew that he must have caused her, at the Battle of Azkaban, to fall into such a deep slumber for her to come into contact with the horcrux within her. Nothing else could have caused that but magic, his dark, callous magic.

Everything he did was cold and calculated. So Hermione had to be like him, cold and calculated, so she could somehow defeat him. At least, for this one instance, for this one fight. Especially as she planned for this one instance to be her last battle before she would find some way to put herself to sleep. Hermione tried to think of something, anything, to do to escape his grasp. It had to be something logical and not impulsive, a way to keep everyone in the safe house, well, safe. But before she could make a move, she heard a shout outside of the bedroom door.

"Hermione?! What's wrong?" The shout called to her in a husky, worried tone, and she wanted to speak, but Riddle pressed a long finger on her lips. She listened to the banging against the door, and Riddle's head snapped towards the door as it broke open. The wooden shards of the now broken door headed straight towards them. Riddle waved his wand arm with an exasperated sigh, producing a shield that blocked them from the shards. A gasping Harry was at the door, wand in hand, and fury on his face.

"Voldemort," Harry said, as though he couldn't believe that was who he was staring at. Hermione had almost forgotten that Harry hadn't truly seen him yet. Only a glimpse when Riddle was pretending to be Nott, but then, Harry didn't know it was him. He hadn't even seen him at the Battle of Azkaban. Seeing his old enemy, clutching Hermione, drew a significant nerve within him, and he lunged towards Riddle.

"Really, Potter? This is far more than inconvenient," Riddle said in a peeved tone, as though Harry had only interrupted a game of chess, and he was about to capture the Queen. He waved his wand, and Harry was sent flying backwards. He thudded to the ground in front of the door. Riddle took one step backwards, and pushed Hermione behind him, as though he were protecting her.

"Let Hermione go!" Harry yelled, his teeth bared like a wild animal. "I'll give you anything you want if you let her go."

'Well, you see, Potter, that's the issue. Hermione is what I want and nothing else. Even your ultimate death is inconsequential to me right now with her here," Riddle replied nonchalantly.

"Don't kill her," Harry begged, his throat tightened.

"Not planning on it, though she could say differently, can't you, Hermione?" Riddle said with a mischievous grin glancing back towards her.

"What is he talking about, Hermione?" Harry asked, and all she could see was worry laced in his green eyes.

"Harry I-,"

But she wasn't able to explain, as Riddle cut her off, "She was going to kill herself, and a charm I cast on her during the Battle of Azkaban alerted me. Immediately, it had apparated me to her presence before she could complete that little task of hers. So here I am, inside your little safe house."

Defeated and with sadness in his eyes, a sadness that Hermione had not seen within him since the last war, Harry asked, "Why would you do such a thing, Hermione? Was it because of Ron?"

"The Weasel's dead? Best news I've heard all day," Riddle said before Hermione had a chance to explain it all to Harry. Those words infuriated her and Harry, and suddenly, Harry did not care about her response, and he quickly flung a curse towards Riddle, tears flinging out of his eyes. She recognized the curse that Harry had only used once before. Sectumsempra. Easily, Riddle deflected it with a menacing chuckle.

"Really Potter, you'd like to hear this one from our dear, Miss Granger," Riddle teased, dodging another curse.

Hermione, attempting to ignore Riddle, and desperate to help, glanced at her wand by Riddle's feet. If she could only-. No. She had to try what Riddle had long ago achieved. She closed her eyes, and summoned her magic, and felt it cooing around her. She imagined Riddle as he was, standing in front of her. She lifted her hands, and her magic was surging. She pushed her hands in front of her, and soon Riddle was flying forward. Harry sidestepped and dodged him. Riddle smacked onto the ground. Grunting, he pushed himself up, and glanced at Hermione with what she could identify as either admiration or lust.

Harry took this opportunity and lunged onto Riddle as Hermione reached for her wand. He pushed Riddle to the ground, pressed his knees on Riddle's stomach and one hand on his shoulder. Seemingly forgetting his wand, Harry brought his arm backward and clubbed Riddle's face. And he did it again, relieving his anger onto Riddle, who was laughing cruelly as Harry did so.

"Stop it, Harry! Stop!" Hermione yelled in a panic, battling whether or not to cast a curse. She could hit Harry. "Your wand!"

Distracted, Harry stared at his bloodied fist, but it wasn't Riddle's blood. Harry gaped as he looked at Riddle's rapidly healing face.

"What are you?" he heaved with wide, perturbed eyes.

"It's more what Hermione is, really," Riddle answered with a smirk.

"Hermione?" Harry said, questioning and unsure. Hermione wished Harry could remain unaware of the danger that Hermione was. She wished Harry had never been like she is now. She wished that he wouldn't be able to understand her. All she wanted was for Harry to be safe, along with everyone else. Yet, there was no escaping her fate. All that was left was for her to admit it.

"I'm his horcrux," she confessed, and her voice cracked as tears tried to fight their way out. Harry stared at her, his face a picture of pure misery and woe. "I'm so sorry."

Harry being distracted, Riddle was able to push Harry away, and he grappled for his wand. Once he latched onto his wand, he grinned at the two Gryffindors. Then, he vanished with a single pop.

"Fuck!" Harry yelled, grabbing his hair in his hands. "Fuck! Where did he go?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said distraught, her mouth gaped open, but no more words leaving it.

"How long?" Harry snarled.

"What?"

"How long?!" Harry screamed, his fist slamming against the wall.

Understanding, Hermione uttered, "Seven years. But I didn't know, I swear! Not until I was asleep for those two weeks. He was in my mind, and he told me, and he admitted it to me just now. It's why he didn't kill me like I thought he wanted to."

Harry sighed, relieving himself of some of his anger, so that he could be calm, "I believe you. It's just-"

But Harry was unable to finish, as he was interrupted by a high-pitched scream echoing from a different spot in the house. They exchanged a quick look, rid themselves of their tears, and ran out of the door. Riddle was still here. They followed the sound of the distant scream, Hermione running in front of Harry as quickly as she possibly could, dreading the worst. Soon, they came upon little Victoire's bedroom door. Oh he wouldn't.

Harry blasted it open as he had prior with her door, and they dashed inside. The room was cold, dark, like the soul trapped within her. Riddle stood in the corner, one arm wrapped around a once peacefully sleeping Victoire, and the other holding his wand, pointing it at Victoire's fragile neck.

"Riddle! Stop this now!" Hermione pleaded. Riddle smiled. With another pop, he vanished again. Immediately another pop resounded in a different spot in the safe house.

"Ginny," Harry stated in fear, his voice strangled. Hermione nodded, and they sprinted out of Victoire's bedroom, on route to Harry and Ginny's bedroom. Harry did the same and blasted the door open. Inside, Riddle was there, still clutching a silently sobbing Victoire, but his wand was pressed now to a sleeping Ginny.

"Quiet," Riddle ordered in a hiss. "She's sleeping, and won't wake until later, I've cast a charm. This child won't watch the sun rise again, and that fetus growing inside of Ginevra will never see the light of day, unless you follow my instruction."

"What the fuck do you want?" Harry seethed. But Hermione knew that Harry was well aware what Riddle wanted.

"Come on Potter, I know you're no Ravenclaw, but you're smarter than that," Riddle snapped. Still, Harry did not offer an answer, and Riddle rolled his eyes. "Hermione, I want Hermione. Come to me, Hermione, grab my arm, and I'll let this child and Potter's trophy wife go. If I am anything at all in this life, I am honest."

Hermione took a willing step forward, but Harry gripped her hand, his eyes begging, saying to her that they would figure out some other way to stop him. But Hermione knew that they wouldn't win this fight. This was not a fairytale, and in real life, the villain tended to win. She drew her arm away from Harry and strode closer to Riddle, a tear sliding down her cheek. She took his wand arm in her hand, and he looked down at her smirking. He released Victoire from his other hand, and she ran towards Harry, and she seized him in an embrace, and Harry pet her hair comfortingly as he conscientiously observed Hermione and Riddle. As if he forgot Harry was in the room, Riddle slid his arm away from Hermione's grasp, and took her other hand in his. He rubbed small circles on her pallid hand as he continued to smirk victoriously.

"Hermione, I'll have you know, before you won't know anything else, that I did not want to do this, but you've forced my hand," Riddle said in a soothing tone, preparing her for whatever was to come. Of course, she knew that he could not have her the way she was. But if he did, she would find a way to defeat him, or she would die trying or completing the task. "What with your attempted suicide, I know that I can't control you like this. You'll just try to kill yourself again. So, my sweet little monster, I shall say goodnight."

"You're not going to kill me are you, what are you-?" Hermione began to question, but Riddle leant forward, as Harry, holding a still sobbing Victoire, watched in silent, shaken fear. Riddle pressed a sullen kiss on Hermione's unwilling lips, his desire taking hold over his goals. Hermione gasped, and Riddle pressed her against him tightly, one hand clutching the top of her back as he lifted his wand behind her head, and Harry and Victoire froze from his Petrificus Totalus charm behind them, just as Harry was about to lung forward and attempt some stupid heroics. Hermione tried to pry him away, but he kissed her desperately while her mouth remained fighting against his, but it only made him want to freeze this moment, or live it again and again. The fight in her is what he had admired since the moment he had formally met her, it was what had made him crave her. It was not simply for the reason that she was his horcrux. Oh, how he wished that things could remain like this. But they couldn't, if only for the greater good.

He bit her upper lip, and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, which had told him off time and time again. She still tried to free herself from him, but he was far stronger and far superior. Yet he knew that he had to continue what he had started by kissing her. It had merely been a distraction, to freeze Potter and subdue Hermione. Opening his eyes, he saw Hermione's frightened brown ones. Carefully, he managed to point his wand to the back of Hermione's head. He ended the kiss that he had craved for so long to say the final word she would hear in her last moments as Hermione Granger. Perhaps they would embrace again. But after this, she would be a different person. He could train her to be strong and powerful as she is now, but she'll instead be cold and calculated, with stern eyes instead of warm ones. He would turn her into someone who adored him, someone who would not want to kill herself for a cause.

"Obliviate," he uttered emotionlessly, and Hermione's pupils grew small, and for a moment her irises were silver. From the corner of his eyes, he could tell that the frozen Harry Potter wanted to scream to the high heavens and curse him. That thought simply pleased Riddle all the more. He cast a sleeping charm on Hermione, and she fell slump into his arms. With one last victorious look at Potter, he apparated away with Hermione, holding her as a man would his bride.

xXx

"Avada Kedavra," Riddle snarled, and the Muggle man fell to the ground, and his soul flew to the depths of hell. Riddle bent down and rummaged through the Muggle's pockets, pulling out his leather wallet. He looked inside to scour the contents, and was pleased with the amount of pounds he found. It seemed suitable. He glanced towards Hermione, who was unconscious on the ground. The Muggle had been scared for Hermione. Little did the Muggle know that Riddle would never harm a head on her pretty little head ever again.

Pleased with himself, he lifted Hermione once more into his arms. Hermione became slump again, and he peered down at her, at the contentedness that her expression revealed. She was at peace, finally comfortable in his clutches. He really should have done this sooner. She was always meant to be his subordinate. With her as his, nothing could stop him from controlling the rest of the Wizarding world. All of that would come with due time, and he was very, very patient.

Even though her spark, which he had been so attracted to and admired, must now be gone, he was simply glad to have her with him. Hopefully, she would be willing. Grasping her against him effortlessly, he strode out of the dark, twilight woods, and headed back towards the highway, which he had appeared on after leaving Potter's safe house, and headed towards the Muggle motel on the other side. No one, not even one of his Death Eaters nor Potter, would have ever predicted that Riddle would have chosen a rotten, flea-run, Muggle motel to hide away in for the night. After his encounter with Potter, he knew that Potter, once unfrozen by most likely his Weasel bride, would do whatever possible to stalk him and Hermione down. A Muggle motel in the middle of nowhere would be the last place Potter would check, until Riddle kills all of the Muggles inside, an act that Riddle would garner pleasure from.

After the Battle, he requested that his Death Eaters scatter, just until he needed them again. There was no need to rush things. He had been waiting a very long time, and with Hermione at his side now, with her memories or not, he was one step closer to domination. even if her capabilities did not provide him with as great of an advantage as he had prior expected. But no, she would not end up as some Gilderoy Lockhart, forever locked up in a hospital. His specific charm had ensured that much. But surely her capture would drive Potter insane, and the 'good' of the Wizarding world would soon crumble to ashes.

He opened the door to the motel and entered. He peered around at the surroundings. It was dusty and dreary, with an old, suspicious crone sitting at the front desk. The motel was in need of dire renovations. The lighting was dim, and the carpet was faded. All in all, it was perfect.

He approached the front desk, and the Muggle crone, glanced under her spectacles. She appeared worried for Hermione, who was still unconscious in his arms. Stupid, foolish Muggle.

"One room for tonight," he demanded.

"Name," The woman croaked.

He paused before answering. He knew that he shouldn't use Riddle, just as a precaution, and what better irony than, "Potter."

"Cash or credit?" she asked slowly.

"Cash," he said. It was better to pay than draw suspicion, even from a Muggle. Potter and the Ministry could have connections anywhere, and he'd like Hermione to recover in more peaceful surroundings before he started training her to be his subservient just as Bellatrix Lestrange was. So, he tossed over the money he had collected from the dead Muggle man. The woman counted it and pocketed the change.

"She all right?" The woman had to ask, and Riddle prevented himself from rolling his eyes. Before he left, he would have to remember to murder the crone.

"She's only sleeping, carried her in from the cab," he replied as sweetly as he possibly could manage. The woman seemed to shrug, but her eyes scanned Hermione's body at length for signs of any possible harm, but they soon seemed to glance at something in particular, ignoring the small bloodstains and cuts on her knuckles.

"Oh, are you engaged? That ring is quite elegant," the woman commented, her tone becoming softer than earlier.

He took a look at Hermione's left hand himself. It was the same ring from the Weasel that he had commented upon himself as he was getting to know her. Hermione must not have wanted to take it off once she learned of his death. How sickeningly sentimental. He would have to get rid of that as well.

"Yes, we are, she simply can't wait for the wedding," he lied. The woman would definitely have to die. Who did she think she was? Prying into someone's private life. This is why he hated Muggles and old women, they never knew their limits.

"I need both of your names on the registrar, and you have room number two," she informed him with a kind smile. He ignored it, took her strange quill and the key, and wrote Tom Potter and Hermione Rosier as he balanced Hermione in his arms. He snatched the key out of the crone's wrinkled hand and walked out of the lobby in search of room number two. Quickly, he found it, and opened the door with the key. There was one bed, a lamp, and a dresser, with a door for a bathroom in the back.

Carefully, he lowered Hermione onto the dust-ridden mattress. He sat on the bed and stared at her beauty. If only she had been of pure blood he could have had her faster. But at this moment, she was his and no one else's, and she was perfect. On her lips before, he had tasted the fear and anger bubbling within her. Soon, they'd only taste sweet and happy. She would idolize him as a God. For he was nothing less. The world would soon worship him…perhaps the both of them. He was the snake, and she would be his venom. Venom… his Venom.

He waved his wand over her body, and he witnessed her eyelids blinking. Her lips parted to catch a deep breath, and her eyes opened and observed her surroundings. She thrust herself upwards, and caught his eyes in hers. Startled, she jumped backwards against the wall.

"Where am I?" she asked, and in a scared tone continued, "Who are you? W-who am I?"

Riddle could not help but smile at his success, and he ran his tongue along his top lip, tasting a final glimmer of Hermione Granger on it.

"You're in a motel room," he answered soothingly, like a close friend would. "My name is Tom, and you, well, you're Hermione."

"Hermione," she repeated as if testing the name, and tilted her head to the side, "Tom. Tom, I simply can't remember a thing about myself. I can recount all uses of dragon's blood for some reason, if you even know what means. But I don't have a sense of my identity, or how I got here. Is this a dream? Please tell me it's a dream."

"I expected as much," Riddle said with false pity.

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, her eyes as wide as an innocent child's. Certainly, she would be full of many more questions, just as he expected and was prepared for.

"You see, a memory charm was cast upon you, so that you cannot remember anything about your prior life," he admitted carefully, letting her absorb the news.

"I see," she pondered, and she lifted her hand to her chin and rubbed it with her thumb. "Why?"

"I shall tell you, Hermione, and every word I say is the truth, I promise," Riddle began, and she was eager as a doll waiting to be played with and controlled. She was ready to believe anything that he told her, just as he had wished for. "You see, we're in the midst of a brewing war. You are on my side, and served under me as one of my greatest soldiers, equipped with strong, wandless magic that I recently witnessed. You were powerful, and I can make you that way again."

Hermione smiled in admiration of herself, her cheeks puffing in pride, but interrupted him with a question, "Why is there a war?"

"It is over Wizard-kind rights, and both sides believe that they are in the right, yet our side will end up the true victor, as I am the leader," he continued.

Her eyebrows creased in concern, and she questioned, "I understand, but how did I lose my memories? They are so central to a person, and I'd like them back. I don't care about dragon's blood or a spell to clean a room if I don't know who I am. Help me, please, T-Tom."

"I'm afraid that may not be possible, but I do have some ideas of how we can recover them, if you let me experiment upon you," he said in order to secure her trust. No, he wouldn't be 'experimenting'. He knew exactly how to bring her under his command. False memories installed in her brain under the guise of trust. "But you lost them in battle at the wizard prison, Azkaban. The other side had heard of you and your prowess on the battlefield. You are immensely difficult to kill, so they came up with another plan. They planned to rid you of yourself. I anticipated this, and tried to form a charm to conserve it, but unfortunately, the caster of the charm was also powerful, but clearly, your knowledge of magic and textbook studies were conserved, but your memories have dissipated, for now."

Saddened, Hermione closed her eyes, and bit her lip, her head bowed down in disgrace. He remained silent as she processed what he had divulged to her. The lies were necessary to his cause, to make sure that she would become aligned with him. He had to keep his precious horcrux safe.

"Who did this to me?" she finally asked, as she looked back up at him in fury.

"His name is famous, but I suppose to you, his name now means vengeance," Riddle said to her with a smirk. "Yet, more formally he is the one called, Harry Potter."

For a minute she paused, but then with hopeful eyes asked, "Could killing him restore my memories?"

"Perhaps," Riddle answered slyly. "But as I said, if you let me, I can try to bring them back myself.

"That sounds," Hermione said, but paused as she was searching for the right word. "Good. That sounds good. Thank you…Tom."

At last, she had come to fruition, to more than he could have dreamed when he cast the charm on her, since he had even thought of the idea. She would be his loyal soldier, trusting and eager to please, sure to obey every command. As he is Voldemort, she will be Venom. And the both of them would be feared.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dubious con elements in this chapter (because of her erased memory)

Chapter 11

Green eyes. Such beautiful green eyes looked at her, but they were full of such fury, such anger. They belonged to man with messy, jet-black hair, and crooked glasses. He stood tall and strong with a fierce power surrounding him. Though, his glare was meant for her. A redheaded woman who glowered stood behind him. She possessed grace and strength, but she could see the hatred within her. The three of them stood in decrepit surroundings. Jail cells were all around them, and she could hear shouting and scurrying. Flying spells were ubiquitous and were glowing different colors.

"No please," she heard fall out of her lips as she stepped back from the pair. "Please, Harry, we were friends."

"Not anymore," the man called Harry snarled at her.

"Ginny, please," she begged.

The redheaded woman shook her head. "You've gone too far, Hermione. What you've done, being with him just can't be forgiven. You of all people with him! Hermione you're a killer just by being associated with him!" 

"It's not too late, I can come back," Hermione tried to persuade the woman. "We can be friends, just like we used to be."

"We can never be friends again, not after all you've done. You're-you are a plague that needs to be stopped," the woman told her, like her death was somehow of ecumenical value.

It was then she noticed that her hands were bound. Her wand was on the ground besides her. She must have been overtaken by these two. Two people who at one point must have been her friends. What had happened? Who was the redheaded woman, Ginny, referring to?

"I can't kill you, Hermione, I just can't, not after everything, so I'm sorry, I have to do worse," Harry interrupted, his head shaking back and forth.

"Get it over with if you're going to do it," she snarled, her false woe and sorrow turning vicious. "You've caught me. Do with me what you must. My Lord will vanquish you, so it doesn't matter what happens to me."

"Fine. Just know that this was all your doing," Harry said, only pity remaining. He lifted his wand and pointed it right towards her face. "Obliviate."

In that moment, she felt herself disappear and fall backwards towards oblivion. A desperate shout of her name flowed in and out of her ringing ears. The voice did not belong to either Harry or Ginny. It was smooth like silk, but the voice was too late. She was gone.

xXx

Hermione couldn't remember falling asleep. That fact alone made her not want to open her eyes again after the haunting dream that felt too real. It had to be real. The man, Tom, promised to find some memory of her prior life. Though, she couldn't remember much at all anyway, so maybe that hadn't happened. No memories at all. Well, except for those first few minutes that her glassy eyes had opened to a new world, and possibly, hopefully, that dream was a memory as well. The dream would only make sense if it was real. The voice at the end sounded so familiar, the only voice she had heard in this new life. The voice wanted to help her, and she knew that it had to have been Tom.

She remembered him, Tom, and the sick adoration laced in his eyes. Anyone in her situation would be wary. Yet, this man, as he had said, was not the one who rid her of her sense of self. No, that was someone called Harry Potter. That name haunted her. It made her shiver. He must have been the one with the jet-black hair and those hauntingly beautiful green eyes in her dream. But, she did not understand why he had taken such drastic measures with her in that dream. How could someone rip away someone else's essence?

Because of this, the only one she could truly attempt to trust was Tom. He promised to bring back her memories, at least a little bit of them. That dream must have been his attempt while she was sleeping. He could have charmed her to sleep, which could be why she did not remember falling asleep. She knew he wanted to help her, and if that voice was his, it definitely was true. By the way he had looked at her the prior night, she surmised that they must have been close in the time before her memories had been erased. No one but a friend would have been willing to help her. She could trust him, for she really did not have any another choice, especially if he was that voice.

So, it was time. She opened her eyes. Her surroundings were dim and dusty. She sought out Tom. He was seated right next to her, and he was twiddling something in his hand. It gleamed silver and green. A small, iridescent ring.

"Did you dream?" Tom questioned, noting her fluttering eyes. But he was still focused on the ring in his grip.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice testing the air. Tom nodded.

"What did you dream?" Tom said, pressing her further.

"A man and a woman, we were fighting, the man cursed me, and I heard a voice." Hermione told him. "What that a memory of mine?"

Tom smirked. "Yes, Hermione, as you were sleeping I attempted some magic to conjure up some semblance of memory. I am afraid that that may probably be all I will be able to conjure. But you saw him? Harry Potter?"

"Yes, I called the man, Harry. He had jet-black hair, green eyes, and glasses. There was this redheaded woman with him named Ginny. The only thing I do not understand is why they would do that to me." Hermione clarified.

"Because they were fearful of your growing power," Tom informed her. "Harry Potter is our enemy, Hermione."

Disappointed, Hermione nodded. There was something about Harry's name that made her sad, as though Tom was not telling her everything about him. She believed that they must have been friends, maybe long ago. But now, he wanted to kill her. It could be easier for him now, as Hermione felt like a shell of someone who once was.

"Do you recognize this ring?" Tom then asked without turning her way.

"No," she answered, turning towards him on her side to get a better look at the enchanting ring. Finally, he looked towards her, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Put it on," he ordered, his arm reaching out towards her. Feebly, she stretched out her right arm. He scowled and instead snatched her left hand instead. His touch made her shiver. Carefully, he slipped the piece of jewelry onto her ring finger and smirked.

"What's this for?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"It was on you before. I made a few adjustments that I felt suited me," he responded with a twitch of his thin lips. "For us."

"Oh."

Tom leaned in closer to her. With his face a breath's length away from hers, he spoke elegantly, "Do you recall Hogwarts?"

She shook her head, and he reached out and caressed her cheek. His hand was cold, his fingers long and bony. Against her, his touch felt empty, as though he could not feel warmth. Of course, that could not be true. Even she knew that was inhuman. Impossible. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and forced herself to submit to his cold touch.

"Hogwarts is a school of magic, a place one can call home. When magical children are eleven their parents send them to the school. They are then separated into four different houses, which are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor," Tom elaborated. He spat out 'Gryffindor' as though it were an insult. "We were both in Slytherin, and its colors are silver and green. It's why I chose those colors for the ring you wear."

"I was educated there?" Hermione asked, inching herself up into a seated position.

"Yes, we both were," Tom answered.

"On magic?"

"Yes."

"That's…amazing," Hermione said in awe. She smiled to herself. So, she had been special.

"I agree."

Hermione paused, though her eyes did not leave Tom. He remained focused on her as well. She studied him and surmised that he must be in his late twenties. It was only logical. He was handsome, so handsome; she could not even deny it. His aura radiated confidence. She also knew that the buzzing around them, no, the singing, must be their magic, happy and content.

Seeing his face made her want to see her own. She had no idea what she looked like. The thought made her uncomfortable, but curious to see herself. She could be absolutely anything. Thus, she peered around the dusty room, and saw a mirror perched on the opposite wall. Carefully, she pushed herself off of the bed and began to walk towards it. Tom flinched

Hermione crossed the room towards the mirror. It had a crack in the top corner and the dust that coated it made it lackluster. For the first time, with her new unprecedented mind, she saw herself. The first feature that she noticed was her hair. It was large, brown and bushy, just like a well-used broom. Perhaps that could have been due to an excessive amount of rest. Though, her face revealed the opposite. It was sallow and worn, and she had bags under her eyes. She titled her head, so that she knew that it indeed was hers. She supposed she was young, a little younger than Tom appeared to be.

Behind her, she noticed Tom approaching her. He stopped right behind her, his breath tickling her neck. She glanced at his reflection piercing in the mirror. He was much taller than she, and he looked stern at the moment as he studied her as well. She could tell that he believed that any of her actions were unpredictable. She was new and fresh. Whoever her old self had been was sadly gone, so she could be a surprise.

"How old am I?" Hermione suddenly asked him.

He took a moment to answer while his head bent slightly towards hers. "About twenty-five."

"And you?"

Tom chuckled, "Hard to tell?"

Hermione wanted to know, but she did not press him further. Tom brought his hand forward and gripped hers. They both reveled in the electricity of the touch, but his touch was still so cold. Briskly, he turned her around so that she was facing him. Merlin, he was so close. She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek as he did hers before. He was all she knew, the only other like her around, and she was desperate to learn. But she restrained herself. He was all she knew, but not what she knew well.

"You need to be taught anew, my dear," Tom told her. "We must refresh your skills if you are ever to regain yourself."

Eagerly, she nodded her head. Oh, how she thirsted to learn, thirsted for this surge of magic, which she was feeling around her to be released. She could tell that he wanted the same by the way his eyes gleamed. His hand that did not grace hers reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden stick.

"This is your wand," Tom informed her. Amazed, she released his hand and snatched the wand, her wand. The wand buzzed with joy, and she felt as though she were home with it in her hands. If this was how magic felt, she wanted to feel it all the time. "I first want you to cast a basic spell that any first year can recall. Can you remember any simple spells?"

"Erm," she muttered, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall a simple spell. She felt a whisper enter her mind, trusting it, she spat out what it said, "Wingardium Leviosa?"

"Very good," Tom said, and smiled. "Go ahead, cast it on anything."

Hermione bit her lip and glanced around the dim room. She searched for anything that could be suitable. Disappointed at the lack of unique objects to lift, she looked again at Tom. She smirked, and mischievousness surged within her.

She pointed her wand at him and said, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Slowly, the spell lifted him off of the ground. The kindness that had been in his eyes a mere second ago melted into anger. His hands went to his sides, and he pushed himself back down with the force of his own magic. It surged around them, fighting furiously against her magic, and appearing like smoke, left his fingertips. His breath was like raging fire. Against his pressure, her spell faded away, and he stormed towards her once his feet were on the ground. His hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her towards the wall. She was flush against him, and apprehension dripped through her as heavy heaves.

"Never again," Tom snarled like vicious snake. "You do not use your magic against me unless I request it. You do as I say, and only as I say. Understood, my little monster?"

Fearfully, Hermione nodded her head. Tom snatched her wand away from her hand. She could feel the wand's sorrow. Then Tom pulled her away from the wall and pushed her towards the bathroom door.

"Go clean yourself up," Tom ordered. "Then we'll practice more magic. You will not dare do such a thing again."

Hermione stumbled towards the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She sniffed, and crumbled against the bathroom door, tears daring to slip. Who was this man?

His voice echoed in her mind. No matter how fearful he liked to appear, she wanted more.

xXx

After Hermione had left the bathroom and cleaned up, the two of them practiced more magic. Yet, Tom had become sterner than he was when she had woken up. After casting a few spells in the motel room, Tom desired to go somewhere with more space to practice more complex spells. So, through magic, he transported her to an empty field, though she did not know where exactly they were. But, they spent the rest of the sunlit hours there. No one else came across them. Tom had seemed pleased with her progress throughout the day, though Hermione remained wary of any sudden outburst like before. Her mind was eager to absorb any knowledge, but she wanted desperately to know how she ended up with Tom. The situation was so very strange. Had she betrayed that man, Harry Potter? No, she couldn't have, it just didn't seem right. Tom said that Harry was their enemy. Harry Potter could have betrayed them.

Yet, as the day had worn on, they practiced progressively harder spells. Throughout the lesson, she noted how much more powerful Tom was than her. No matter how callous he had been, Tom truly was a force to be reckoned with. She was amazed that he had chosen her to repair and waste his time with.

At the end of the lesson the two of them dueled with spells he refreshed her on. His magic defeated hers quite easily, but he had told her that she had done very well. They had used a variety of spells from Expelliarmus to Stupefy and to Protego. Tom had informed her that these were dueling basics that every good wizard or witch must know.

Their days wore on the same. In the field, Tom had taught her how to transfigure trees and passing animals and how to change them back. They fought together, and Hermione felt herself growing more powerful day by day. Sometimes he left her alone in the motel room with textbooks on magic while he did things he did not inform her on. He would only tell her that he had some other followers or business to tend to. She did not mind him leaving her alone. She loved the books he gave her more than anything. While he was gone, she never tried to leave. For she had the feeling that she would not be able to leave even if she tried. Tom was very protective of her. Often when he would grip her, the way that he'd look at her screamed possession. Hermione did not mind it too much, not when it meant that he was teaching her magic. Without him, no doubt, she would be lost in this cavernous world.

When he'd return from wherever he had been on those nights, they would practice the spells that she had read about. After a few weeks passed, he brought her potion books, a cauldron, and potpourri of ingredients. So, Hermione had grown to appreciate him. She felt a strange affection for him, even though sometimes she felt like a prisoner in the confined hotel room. Yet, she did not mind it, not one bit. He enraptured her.

At night as she would fall asleep she'd ask him about her previous life and his life. He'd tell her that she was an honored follower as he'd pet her head affectionately as though she were a child or a pet. She liked the way his hand roamed around her body. Sometimes she felt an urge to grab him and pull him into the bed with her. Though, he never seemed to sleep himself. Hermione believed he watched her as she slept. Sometimes she'd wake and he'd be stroking her arm or elsewhere. His cold touch was intoxicating. Hermione desired to feel more of him, to bring him closer, but she never tried.

He was her teacher, and she, the ever eager pupil.

To him though, she was far, far more.

xXx

Weeks after they had first started practicing magic, Hermione left the bathroom, and noticed that Tom was pacing across the room. He seemed like he was debating with himself over some matter or another. He was muttering, and did not notice her enter until she cleared her throat to capture his attention. Tom whipped around and stared at her for a moment before a wicked grin formed.

"Hermione, we're going to do something different today," Tom announced.

"Are we going somewhere?" she asked. She did crave to see more of the outside world besides for the motel and the empty field. The rest of the world was the main chunk of her that was missing. She wanted to smell freshly mowed grass and bookstores. She yearned to breathe the air of Wizarding civilization, and to see other wizards casting spells and smiling with joy. She craved the world, and was disappointed when Tom said otherwise.

"No, my dear, we're going to stay right in this motel. But I'm going to teach you a different sort of magic today as I feel you've perfected what I've taught you already," Tom elaborated.

"Oh, what kind of magic?" Hermione asked, curious but eager, no longer considering asking Tom to go out.

"Dark magic," Tom answered with a red glint flickering in his eyes.

Hermione took a small step back, and tilted her head. Dark magic? Hermione never thought something so light, pure and free like magic could ever be dark. But, she could not deny the eagerness that lay within her to learn it. She supposed it was just another whole branch of magic that had to be learned, but she did not think that it could be evil no matter its title. Just...dark.

"I think we should jump right into it, you don't need to learn any special types of dark curses just yet. There are a basic three that any powerful wizard can perform, only if you mean it," Tom continued, but Hermione did not respond. "These three curses have special power to them. They can make the most innocent person a conqueror. They are how I became so powerful myself."

Desperate to know and be as powerful as Tom, Hermione asked, "What are they?"

"The Imperius Curse is one that when cast can control another to do your bidding," Tom said, and Hermione drew closer to him, biting down on her lip, entranced by the way Tom was speaking. He mesmerized her utterly and completely.

"And?"

"The Cruciatus Curse, it tortures the one it is cast upon," Tom continued.

"And?"

"The Killing Curse, which I believe speaks for itself," Tom finished and Hermione was standing right in front of him. He looped his arm around her waist, pressing her close to him.

"A Killing Curse? Magic really-?"

"Yes, my dear, it does, and it will."

"I don't think I could cast such a spell."

"Yes, you can, Hermione, and you will," Tom goaded her, as his lips loomed by her neck. She felt the tickle of his breath ease her in and relax her. Suddenly, his lips pressed down and kissed the crook of her neck. She gasped, and then he was sucking the supple skin. She felt the graze of his teeth against her, and she moaned.

"I can?" Hermione murmured as his kisses traveled up her neck. How he tortured her. His lips pressed against her jawlines, and the tip of his tongue touched her. Soon his lips trailed the skin next to her lips, which parted for his. But then, his lips left her, and she only felt his hot breath gracing hers.

"You can and you will," Tom said, so softly. Hermione nodded. She couldn't say no to him. His hand traveled down and gripped hers. "I already have our first victim, my sweet."

"You do? Already."

"Yes, I do. I've wanted to teach you for a time now," Tom revealed, and pulled her with him towards the door of the motel room. His other hand turned the knob, and the sun poured down on them. All Hermione had seen for the past few weeks had been their room and that empty field. She had not even what the world right outside the room looked like. That was what she was missing, not freshly mowed grass or bookstores, but what was right in front of her.

Yet, she found that she did not care too much as she thought she would have. All she wanted in that moment was for Tom's lips to touch her again. She felt teased and tempted.

Tom pulled her out of their room and opened the door to the room right next to theirs. Inside the room was an old man facing away from them. Hearing the door creaking made him turn around, and he bowed when he saw Tom.

"My Lord," the old man greeted, and for a flicker of a second the old man's eyes glinted towards Hermione, but the old man pretended that he had made no notice of her. My Lord; those were two words that Tom had told her some people call him. But, she did not have to, because he said she was special to him.

"Lestrange," Tom reciprocated. "This is my dear, Hermione. Hermione, this is one of my loyal followers, Lestrange."

Once again, the old man, now Lestrange, bowed, but this time he faced her. Hermione was shocked at the appreciation. This old man was the first person she had seen besides for Tom. It was strange. She had become so used to Tom's dark, entrancing beauty. Seeing this man, with his raspy voice, grey hair, and wrinkles, she was reminded of the decay of the world.

"Lestrange, today I am teaching Hermione about dark curses, a subject of which you know so much about. That is why I invited you here today," Tom informed, and Hermione thought for a moment that Tom sounded like he was taunting Lestrange, but she must have been mistaken.

"Yes, my Lord, I do," Lestrange confirmed.

"Tell me Lestrange, for Hermione's benefit, how you feel when you cast a Cruciatus?"

"Powerful, my Lord, I feel immensely powerful," Lestrange divulged with a nasty sneer exacerbated by his wrinkles. To Hermione, the old man seemed to be hiding his fear and tiredness behind the nasty sneer.

"Do you know that Hermione wishes to feel powerful again? I can see it within her. Our weeks of practice have not fulfilled her potential. She's incomplete. Do you know why this is, Lestrange?" Tom drawled, beckoning Lestrange to his challenge.

"No, my Lord," Lestrange responded with a shake of his head.

"I do, she has not experienced using her magic against someone so much weaker than her," Tom finished with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Tom-."

"M-my Lord?"

"Yes, come here, Hermione, that's right, in front of me," Tom requested, but she knew it was an order. He latched onto her arm, slipped her wand in her grip and pointed it at Lestrange.

Hermione stared at Lestrange, not allowing him to see the vulnerability within her. If he was one of Tom's followers, he could be very accomplished, and escape. Tom would be very disappointed if she'd end up accidentally allowing the old man to flee. Hermione did not enjoy making Tom upset, not since their first full day together, not since her first spell, Wingardium Leviosa. Though, he said she was powerful. She just had to prove it to herself.

"Do you want to feel the power, Hermione?" Tom whispered as he parted her hair away from her ear and leaned in closer like a tempting snake. "Do you want to feel control?

"Yes," she admitted, unashamed and prepared. Hermione drew in a deep breath, cracked her neck and brought her wand out of Tom's grip. "Tell me what to say."

"Say Crucio, my little monster. Make him feel pain. You want this."

"Crucio!" Hermione intoned, moving her wand like a flash of lightning until the red spark left it. How she wanted to please Tom, to be his, to be hers, and to be powerful. The curse hit Lestrange, and he was knocked backwards and slammed against the wall. His limbs flailed about, and the man appeared to be in all-consuming pain that was red-hot and angry, eager to please just as Hermione was. She felt connected to the curse, so she glowered at Lestrange, and the more anger she felt, the more pain Lestrange was encompassed in. Lestrange screamed.

"My Lord!" Lestrange shrieked, and all he was now was a needy, petulant child to Hermione.

"Very good, Hermione, you may stop," Tom informed her. Hermione nodded and relinquished her hold over the curse. Lestrange slumped against the ground and he sharply gasped, desperate for the air around him. "I knew you were capable, but this was amazing."

"Thank you, Tom." Hermione smiled, but did not turn around to look at him, she was slightly taken by how in pain Lestrange still seemed to be in.

"How do you feel, Lestrange, when you kill someone?" Tom pestered, goading the tortured man.

"Victorious," Lestrange croaked. Tom chuckled cruelly.

"Kill him," Tom ordered, heartless and cold. Hermione tilted her head and glossed over her victim.

"My Lord, please!" Lestrange begged, and he slumped over and tried to perch himself on his knees. But his legs gave out and his chest smacked on the ground under him. His clasped hands were his prayer, and she and Tom, his gods.

"You are old and hollow, so therefore you are no longer of use, except for target practice," Tom taunted. "Do it, Hermione, say Avada Kedavra with one strong, fluid motion of your wand."

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione immediately uttered, and a flash of green, somehow so familiar to her, shot out of her wand. It smacked onto Lestrange. His clasped hands gave out, and his head hit the ground, shattering his chin and his life.

In an instant, she felt Tom's cold, long, pallid hands on her shoulders. They turned her around until she was facing him. He looked at her with adoration and lust. Hermione knew for a long time that he had wanted her just as much as she had wanted him.

"Merlin, you're so beautiful," Tom beamed.

Hermione did not have a chance to respond before Tom brought himself forward and pressed his thin lips to hers. His lips were soft and intoxicating. Hermione brought her arms behind his neck and pulled him against her. His arms roamed down, settling on the small of her back. He parted from her and smiled at her, a smile so genuine, completely unlike what she had seen from him before. Tom pushed her down onto the bed, the one Lestrange was in front of, and crawled over her body, which was aching with need.

Tom tore off his shirt and began to unbutton his trousers. Hermione took off her own shirt, and Tom seemed mesmerized. He bent down and dropped kisses traveling up her stomach and towards her sternum. He reached behind her and unbuttoned her bra, slipped the straps off her shoulders, and ripped it off her. His lips sucked on her breasts and his tongue traced her nipples. She moaned as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin.

"So, beautiful," Tom muttered between kisses as he traveled up her neck towards her lips. Hovering over her lips, he uttered, "I've waited so long."

"Keep going," Hermione urged. Her hands gripped his hips, and her fingers slipped under his boxers and pulled them down. He kicked off his pants, and noting that she had far too many clothes on, reached for her pants and took them off. For a moment he stared at her damp, cotton panties. He bit down on the elastic of the material and dragged it down her thighs until it reached her knees.

Tom then stood on his knees in front of her. Hermione was taken by him, by his stark, naked beauty kneeling in front of her while she was lying on the bed. She was under his whim, under his command, under his control. Merlin, he could do whatever he wished to her.

"Say my name," Tom commanded, all kindness lost.

"Tom," Hermione breathed out, awaiting him.

"My real name."

"W-what?"

"Voldemort," Tom informed her, "I am Lord Voldemort, and you, my Hermione, you are my venom."

"Voldemort," Hermione repeated, and licked her tongue over her top lip, testing the new name, and thinking of what she was to him. "Voldemort."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

~One Year Later~

It was a Third Wizarding War. Yet this time around, no one had any hope. If Voldemort could keep coming back again and again by using those at the helm of the light, how could someone see any light in the bleak darkness?

Ginny sat on the staircase of their third, no- she was wrong- fourth safe-house that they had acquired throughout the past year. Harry had kept moving them around to keep them safe in order to plan and to find their enemy without being caught themselves. But planning took its toll on him so that Ginny could hardly recognize him or herself these days.

She held their child, James Sirius Potter, against her breast on a staircase in the safe house. Ginny had thought she would love her child, but she had trouble. Her mother had said to her when James was born that every woman who bears a child also bears a new sense of responsibility and dread that they had never felt before, but seeing a little bundle of joy in your arms that is all yours carries the love forward and it wakes like a blazing fire. She had said that hearing Bill’s first laugh in the midst of terror was like songbird heralding forth a new tune. Yet, Ginny did not feel it. Her child was a nuisance, just like his father.

Something within her told her that she would have loved this child if there had been no war, if Ron hadn’t been a victim, if Hermione hadn’t been erased, if Harry hadn’t changed so drastically in his search for Hermione, if Harry didn’t blame himself so much for her disappearance, if he cared as much for his child as much as Hermione’s empty shell, then perhaps she could have loved her child.

James began to cry, and Ginny wanted to smother him. Every time he sobbed when she craved her own tears she had that temptation. Though he was so little at four months, she could not harm him. If she did, he would only be another innocent afflicted by the war. Yet, that did not cease the craving within her to leave him behind somewhere. She contemplated giving him away, hiding him with someone who would care for him. She wasn’t a fool though. Nowhere was safe not even a so-called ‘safe house’.

Voldemort, adorned with Satan’s veil, murdered all in his path, muggle and wizardkind alike. He raided muggle villages for sport. He sent his Death Eaters to do his bidding of murder under the guise of friendship. One by one, officials in the ministry had died, with puppets soon to replace them. He was the epitome of evil, and he commandeered a woman who had been her good friend, Hermione Jean Granger.

Hermione beheld a fate worse than death. In Ginny’s mind, it was a fate worse than a Dementor’s kiss. Hermione did not know herself anymore. Deep inside, Ginny knew that she had been molded by Voldemort to do his work as his horcrux, and Ginny knew that Hermione wore his mark and his mask.

Ginny craved to kill her, in order to put her out of her misery like a sick dog. Maybe then she could love her child if Hermione was taken care of. Then Harry’s attentions would also be on their child.

James was still sobbing, desperate for a mother’s touch. Ginny did not feel like a mother to him while Harry did not act like a father. It was rare that Ginny made meaningful contact with Harry. All they did together was have sex when they both felt desperate and alone once Ginny had been fully healed from giving birth. It was all Harry wanted from her. Every other minute of the day he claimed he was desperate to protect her and James, and did not care to let her leave the house. _Every child needs its mother_ , Harry would say, and that was only because he missed out on having one himself.

The rest of her living family was in hiding with them, and her mother deigned to take charge over James. But that day, her mother wanted her to supervise over the child. For practice, her mother had said, and left her alone with him. Ginny did not want practice, Ginny did not want him. Ginny could not believe that she used to be excited over the prospect of new life, life that she carried herself. That life now was only a burden.

The door to the safe house creaked open, and Ginny turned her head towards it as James’ cries persisted. Luna Lovegood entered. These days, Luna was worn. She had bags under her wide, doe-eyes, and she carried sad smiles with her.

“Hello, Ginny,” she greeted, and she approached her on the staircase and sat on a step two below Ginny. She had not seen Luna for awhile, for she had Lorcan and Lysander to watch when she was not serving Harry.

Ginny did not care to reply, she only slightly nodded. James still wept. Luna looked upon him and Ginny with slight concern.

“Would you like me to hold him, Ginny?” Luna asked, her arms reaching out for him. “I’m quite good with my twins.”

“Take him,” Ginny deadpanned, and passed her child to Luna’s welcoming arms.

“He’s fussy, this one, just has to burp,” Luna informed Ginny, and placed her infant son against her and pat his back until he burped. “There you are, little one.”

But then, Luna’s sympathetic eyes were back on her. Her head tilted to the side, and her stare was locked on Ginny’s stomach. Ginny’s cheeks flushed red, unsure what was going through Luna’s intrinsically wired mind. Luna then maneuvered James so that she had one free hand, and she reached that hand out and pressed it against Ginny’s stomach.

Startled, Ginny lurched. “What are you doing?” Ginny demanded, as Luna began to rub small circles on Ginny’s stomach.

“When I worked in Rolf’s preserve, I worked with many different magical creatures. The ones in Rolf’s preserve were endangered species. I became quite good with them. Animals have always been very special to me, and I easily bond with them as you know. In the preserve we attempt to breed these creatures in order to keep their species alive so that they aren’t as rare as a Crumple-Horned Snorckack-,” Luna rambled.

“What are you on about?” Ginny sneered. She gripped Luna’s hand and pushed it away from her.

“You see, Ginny, I became quite good at determining a creature’s pregnancy, which came quite handy when trying to become pregnant myself. So you see, Ginny? May I please?” Luna finished, her hand hovering near Ginny.

“Be clear with me,” Ginny ordered, fear creeping in.

“I think you might be pregnant, it’s in your aura. The nargles are bouncing with joy all around you,” Luna confirmed.

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head, “No, I can’t be. I can’t.”

“If I could just cast a spell, I can prove if you are. It is possible I’m mistaken. We all make mistakes. It was simply your aura that alerted me, I’m very in tune to it because of Divination. Or I could have been alerted to it because of James,” Luna stated.

“Cast it, and then tell me that it’s not true,” Ginny requested. Luna’s hand drifted closer to Ginny stomach. Luna closed her eyes as Ginny looked on with worry. Luna mumbled the spell, and a golden glow shone over her stomach, and it faded within a minute. “So?”

“You’re pregnant, Ginny,” Luna told her, and bit down on her lip.

“I can’t be,” Ginny whispered with wide eyes that tears began to stick to, and then she directed to Luna, “Please, I can’t, I just can’t be.”

“At this point in the pregnancy it is the size of a peanut, you can always take other precautions,” Luna assured, and Ginny nodded, the tears beginning to subside. Luna was right, she was always right.

“I can take James back,” Ginny said calmly, reaching out for the child, and Luna carefully placed the now content infant into her arms. “I’m sure there’s some meeting you’re going to, I don’t know if I’ll go.”

“If you need anything, Ginny, please let me know,” Luna begged. “If you want to take such precautions, I am able to do it for you. It can be private, no one else has to know, though you should tell Harry.”

Ginny slowly nodded. She turned away to glance off into the distance, awaiting her mother to relieve her of the child. Luna stood from the staircase and headed further into the safe house where she was supposed to meet with others in the Order. Ginny did not attend many meetings anymore. If Luna was in her condition and mental state, she would not either. If only Harry would recognize his wife’s pain.

Luna peered into the room, her DA coin hot and heavy in her pocket. She spotted Harry at the head of the table, his head in his hands. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Neville Longbottom were next to him. Molly, Arthur, Bill, and George Weasley sat at the table along with Minerva McGonagall, who sat at the opposite head of the table. These were some of the people that Harry trusted. Only those Harry trusted could come to these meetings. Others in the Order simply waited Harry’s or Kingsley’s command through newly created coins. Luna crept in and took her seat at the table. Harry stretched his head up, and Luna noticed the map in front of him. He brought it to every meeting. It was a map of the United Kingdom, with marks all over, displaying Voldemort’s attacks, and supposed sightings of Hermione. Harry would not give up hope on Hermione as long as her body was living.

“We haven’t gotten anywhere,” Harry began. Everyone was silent. “It’s been a year, and we are nowhere closer to achieving anything. He has been patient, attacking when it suits him. We haven’t even been able to take back Azkaban, and that is a disappointment. We are nowhere closer to finding him or Hermione.“

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall interrupted, and all eyes were on her. “Miss Granger is not our priority. As you said yourself, her mind was erased. She is Riddle’s pawn now, that you must understand. Defeating Riddle is the priority.” “We have to save her,” Harry snapped through gritted teeth, his fists clenching together.

“I agree with Minerva, Harry,” Kingsley spoke up. “You have focused too much attention onto Miss Granger as a victim, so have I. But now, we have to see her for what she really is now. She’s his horcrux. If we cross her path we will have to kill her in order to kill him. She’s your weakness in this war, and in order for that feeling to be squelched you must realize that she is not Hermione anymore. Our Hermione is dead.”

Harry shook his head. “At the Battle of Hogwarts when Voldemort hit me with the Killing curse, I lived, and so will she!”

“But Riddle will not be the one casting the curse. And if she lives, there’s no saying who she’ll be. He no doubt views her as his possession. If we find her, we find him, she will always be at his side. This time around I doubt he’s just going to leave her behind breakable curses.” Bill protested.

“She’s gone, Harry,” a new voice deadpanned, and all eyes turned to Ginny at the door, caressing her child. “Who says she won’t try to kill you?”

Harry fell silent and stunned. He stared at his wife. Harry never wanted to consider that possibility. Hermione was his friend. Harry would do anything for any of his friends, and he always thought he’d find a way to bring back Hermione’s memory. The strength of Voldemort’s charm on her was unknown. Harry did endless research on memory charms, and learned that they carried depth. Powerful wizards and witches could erase knowledge selectively. Harry figured Voldemort did such a thing. Hermione’s knowledge from school was such a precious thing to erase. With that hope, Harry believed a part of Hermione still existed, and that all of her could be brought to the helm of light once more.

“She’s right, Harry,” Luna chirped. “Hermione could easily be Voldemort’s weapon. I believe we should focus on tracing his path and figuring out where he could attack next.”

“Very well,” Harry deadpanned. He cleared his throat. “His last attack was on Godric’s Hallow. Our victory there was that we were able to evacuate the muggles before he could do true damage. Riddle’s goal is power, and eventually, he will make his way once more into the Ministry and try to take that power. This time he is being very patient. We are losing our supporters not to death but to his darkness. Because of Hermione’s lineage, more wizards and witches are seduced into his ranks since a man who has a Muggle-born at his side cannot be too terrible. Clearly they’re wrong, but he is smart. I believe that his conquest for blood purity is a thing of the past to him. His true craving is power and immortality. Or possibly just the vanquishing of muggles and overtaking their world, making wizard-kind dominant. People like that idea.”

“So what are we supposed to do, Harry?” Neville challenged. “Sit here and await his next attack?”

“I don’t think we have another choice. His movements are sporadic and unpredictable. All we can do it station people all over and have spies awaiting his next move,” Harry responded.

Neville nodded. “I’ll set up the shifts and locations for patrols, and I’ll send out communication to others with the coins.”

“Thank you, Neville,” Harry said. “You all may go, and await Neville’s instruction. You all know the Protean charm. If you spot him or any Death Eater, send the message, and me a Patronus so I know it’s you.”

Harry stood from his seat as did the others. McGonagall, Neville, Luna, Bill, George and Kingsley apparated away. Molly and Athur stayed. Molly approached her daughter and scooped James up from her arms, cooing at him as she did so. She left the room, and Arthur followed after her, knowing that Ginny and Harry had a few things to speak about.

“I’m pregnant,” Ginny blurted, erasing the silence.

Harry’s eyes lit up, and the corners of his mouth almost flickered into a smile. “Really?”

“At the least Luna said so.”

“That-that’s amazing,” Harry commented.

“Really, Harry, is it? In the middle of a war? I find it pretty fucking awful,” Ginny snapped.

“Life is a gift, Ginny, and this child can bring hope,” Harry insisted.

“Hope, hope, hope, that’s all you yammer on about,” Ginny blurted. “There is no hope. I don’t think I even want to keep this thing.”

“What about James, Ginny? He’s hope!” Harry countered, slamming his fist against the table.

“He’s not! He’s named after two dead men, and I think as something so innocent he practically has a target painted on his forehead!” Ginny shouted.

“You’re wrong, Ginny,” Harry said calmly.

Ginny scoffed. “I’m going to be saying that to you in nine months if I have this thing.”

Harry could not say another word. Ginny’s presence and anger was tiring him. So she stalked out of the room, leaving him alone once again.

xXx

Harry didn’t know where Ginny went. She had left James alone in his crib. Harry sat by the crib, listening to the soothing breaths of his child. It was still perplexing to him that he had a child, while Ginny tried her best to ignore it. Harry knew she needed help, but with the world in this state, he could not provide it for her. Hermione would have known what to do.

Harry leaned his hand into his hands, trying to calm his own breaths to match his child’s. Every time he thought about Hermione or Ron, he was brought to shambles. In front of others, when he was looked upon as some bulwark of strength, he had to remain composed, but now, he could not control himself, and he was racked with sobs. His breaths became pants and he lost his control in the palm of his hands. James stirred. He wept, matching his father.

At the sound of James’ cries Harry’s head shot up, and before he could stop himself, he shouted, “I’M SORRY!”

James kept crying, his feeble hands reaching out for someone to hold him.

Again, Harry snapped, “I’M SORRY!”

The door to the nursery shot open, and Molly Weasley entered, her eyes locked on James. Her piercing, worn stare turned to Harry before she started towards the crib. She picked James up and held him against her chest and shushed him.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered between his tears.

“Dear, it’s fine to feel. Maybe you should go get some rest,” Molly said to him softly as she rocked James, whose cries began to subside.

“Sleep?” Harry questioned. “Yes, I should sleep.”

“Off you go now, dear,” Molly said, and urged Harry out of the room. “I’ll stay with James, you needn’t worry.”

“Do you know where Ginny is?” Harry asked, his thoughts once again on his wife.

“I believe she’s in the backyard,” Molly answered. “Off you go. Please rest, dear. No one can fight a war without sleep.”

“Yes,” Harry stated, and clumsily left the room.

He stumbled outside of the door, and pressed his hand against his head as he walked in despair. The tears trickled out, and he was not sure he would be able to accomplish what he set out to do a year ago. Get Hermione back. His Hermione.

And Ginny, poor Ginny. He had done so much to her, so much that she did not deserve. So he set out to find her, and he did. She stood on the porch, staring at the night sky.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, chocked. She did not turn around.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated and walked closer to her until they were standing side by side.

Ginny heard him, but she did not know how to reply. She was not sure what he was apologizing for exactly, yet, she still was not sure if she would be able to forgive him for all he has done in his search. In a sense, he abandoned her.

“You can do whatever you want with the baby,” Harry said. “I can’t force you to have it.”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ve got time. Luna and I went over it together,” Ginny replied sullenly.

“I love you,” Harry stated, and pressed his hand against her shoulder and turned her to look at him. “I will always love you no matter what happens.”

“Do you, Harry?” Ginny cruelly snapped, and she slapped his hand away. “From this past year, I would not consider you a loving husband.”

To Harry, she was right. Before he could pay better attention or care to her sentiment, a fire awoke in his cloak pocket. He reached in and pulled out his DA coin as Ginny reached into her own pocket. Its heat was screaming at him, and one word flashed.

Hogwarts.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

Finality was what Tom promised Hermione, his venom in the war. He reminded her how every piece of his and her lives have led up to this moment: the day when conquest would be granted in finality, lasting forevermore. War would no longer be necessary. Everything beneficial in Tom’s life had to be permanent, if not, she knew of the disastrous consequences. Tom lived in two extremes. Either he controlled or he eradicated. 

 

Hermione held onto the hope that this conquest might grant the return of her memories and her entire life. Without them, Hermione knew that she was broken. She did not even know who her parents were or had been. Ever since Tom rescued her, Hermione knew she needed her memories. The knowledge Tom had granted her simply was not enough. He knew nothing of her childhood, and Hermione could not tap into that happy freedom only a child feels or a smile on her parents’ faces, something so vital to existence. Without it, people were shells.

 

Tom gripped her hand in his. His devilish, intoxicating smirk grappled her in. Every time he touched her, she craved more of him. It kept them together. She could have left him so many times since he saved her. She chose to stay. They helped each other. 

 

“Today it ends, my dear. Everything we have done this past year has led to this,” Tom reminded, and squeezed her hand. He led her out of the mansion they had taken residence in. It was located in the Scottish countryside and had been owned by some filthy, now dead, muggle. Tom enjoyed such luxurious indulgences, even if it had been touched by muggles, or the type of people who ruined everything. 

 

Outside in the garden their followers were waiting. Many still gave her strange looks as they did when they had first met her. To Tom they looked fearful in the vicinity of his strong, fierce power. Their group of followers was massive, comprised of more than just wizards, witches, giants, and trolls. All of them united with one purpose; a hatred for the new Wizarding World and Harry Potter. 

 

Tom pressed his wand against his neck, so that his voice would boom and seize the souls of those around him: “We strike!” 

 

Everything they had done; slaughter of muggles, burning of villages, usurping any power and recruits around them, striking fear into the shadows of anyone who passed their glory, led to Hogwarts, Tom’s true home to be claimed to end this fight. The Order of the Phoenix struggled against them, for their useless forces were being depleted. Tom knew what mistakes not to make. 

 

He no longer had to hide. 

 

Factions disapparated into the air around them, the prime destination and victory in their minds. If possible, Tom held Hermione’s hand tighter. She glanced at her iridescent ring on her left hand that Tom continually held. To her, that ring projected their unity, two serpents curling around each other. The ring comforted her. 

 

Once more, Hermione looked up towards him, her eyes shining with ever-growing affection for the mad man who will lead the world, who will destroy Harry Potter. 

 

“Ready?” he prompted, a red glint in his black eyes. 

 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hermione drawled. 

 

Like their army, they flashed away.

 

xXx

 

They appeared in the main road of Hogsmeade as evening struck behind their stirring army next to the Hogshead, waiting for their call. Tom had relinquished Hermione’s hand and his smirk disappeared. This happened every time.

 

His wand returned again to his neck and he roared, “Onward!”

 

The factions moved, their wands and weapons at their sides. Tom did not follow his army, but his eyes lingered on her. He grabbed her sides suddenly and pressed her against him. 

 

“Today we will win. Death is not an exception, you understand, Hermione?” Tom warned. 

 

“Our plan does not require us to fight, our army shall do that,” Hermione remarked. 

 

“Does not matter. Show no weakness here or when we’re with him. I’ll not lose you,” Tom countered. 

 

“I’ll not die as long as you don’t,” Hermione promised. 

 

“And I never shall,” Tom stated and his smirk returned. He bent down, his lips gentle against hers. 

 

Like a feral animal, his head whipped away and his eyes glared at a figure in the distance. His teeth bared, but he calmed himself and smiled sickeningly sweet at her. 

 

“Take care of that would you, my dear, and if possible, make sure his fellows come running to battle. I’d so love to get rid of them all with one fell swoop as quickly as possible. Our army is far more prepared than theirs, as planned,” Tom told her, his head indicated a brush of a cloak not far away, “Do what I told you afterwards and meet me inside. Someone has to control our army.”

 

Tom relinquished her from his grip and stalked away. Hermione never like to watch him leave. So she did not glance his way, but began to trail after the figure Tom took note of. Hermione caught sight of the running person and brandished her wand. She charmed a tree near the figure to break and fall. She smiled cruelly as the figure attempted to cast a spell to stop the movement, but no charm this person cast could defeat her magic. Tom made sure of that. The tree fell on top of the man’s leg. He screamed in agony, and reached for his wand which had rolled away from his reach. Hermione slowly approached it. 

 

The figure was a man with sandy-blonde hair and chubby cheeks, but who’s eyes were scarred with the vision of war. 

 

“H-Hermione?” The man called out in raw pain, and she flinched. She felt some sort of inclination to spare the man, but Tom told her to take care of him, and she had to obey Tom. She owed him her soul.  

 

“Inform your leaders that we’re here, attacking Hogwarts,” Hermione coldly instructed the man, her wand pointing at his face. 

 

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” the man begged, his hand reaching into his back pocket, pulling out marked galleon, and his fingers embraced it. Hermione tilted her head in curiosity at the action.

 

“I do have to do this, and really, it is none of your business. Nothing will be your business,” Hermione taunted. “Have you informed them?”

“Yes,” the man grunted. 

 

Emotionlessly, Hermione cast, “ _Avada Kedavra,”_ and the man slumped, the coin dropping out of his grip. Hermione bent down and picked up the coin. She studied it and cast a charm over it to reveal its secrets. A Protean charm. Smirking, she put it in her pocket to use for reference later. Tom would be so proud. She spared another look at the man she killed. Perhaps she had known him in her other life. Yet, he still remained inconsequential. 

 

In the distance she spotted Tom trailing behind the army just at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the sun setting in the sky beyond the castle. 

 

It was time. Just as Tom taught her, she let the fiendfyre in the shape of a serpent to leave her wand and roar. It shot into the Hogshead and embraced the path the laid out for it as she backed away with each of its movement. Before hitting the shop across the street, it smacked into the fallen tree and man, roasting it. 

 

Then she ran as her fire destroyed the helpless screams in its wake as the army disappeared inside of Hogwarts. Their new home.  

 

xXx

 

Tom smiled in the courtyard of Hogwarts, and he slowly breathed in the air around them as the army began breaking open the doors to the castle. The Order of the Phoenix were most certainly on their way, running into Hogwarts through the burning Hogsmeade, which would slow most of their forces down.

 

Hermione gazed in admiration of the castle. She was unbelieving to the fact that she had studied in such a magnificent place. Tom promised her that this place would become their home, and that it would be the helm of the next generation of wizards, under the guidance of wisdom of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione agreed with Tom’s opinion that the other founder’s knowledge was no longer necessary. Life would be beautiful.

 

The doors broke open and the giants at the forefront awaited Tom. Tom held up a hand and those around him parted for him and her to break through. The two of them entered the castle, their footsteps echoing against the floor, and the beauty of her surroundings beckoned her forward. 

 

“Welcome home, Hermione,” Tom told her. 

 

Hermione smiled, and awaited Tom’s next action along with the rest of his army. He once more pressed his wand against his neck. 

 

“Students of Hogwarts, return at once to your dormitories if you wish to be spared. Pureblood, halfblood, mudblood, it does not matter, you shall be spared if you do not bear arms against my forces. Be cunning,” Tom announced, removed the wand from his neck and remained still, giving the students time to hide, for Tom did not wish to slaughter the future generation of wizards, he wanted them to be his. “To your positions. Now we wait. Every last member of the Order shall be vanquished if they do not surrender to our new world. But remember, Harry Potter is mine, let his path be clear.”

 

Factions of their army marched to different areas of the castle as instructed. Hermione and Tom watched as they marched, ready to bring a new Wizarding World, one that did not have to hide from the likes of muggles everywhere. Under Tom, the Wizarding World will be the whole world and the culture that dominates. 

 

Two Death Eaters stayed and perched themselves at their sides. Tom began to walk onwards, and headed towards the perch of the Grand Staircase. The halls of the castle were desolate of students or faculty. Hermione assumed that protecting the students became the faculty’s main priority. Tom informed her that some faculty members were part of the Order, but none of them could fight alone. 

 

“My Lord, it’s the Order,” one of the Death Eaters indicated, her head jerking towards one of the castle’s windows. Tom glared out of it. Compared to their army, the Order’s was miserable, and Tom smiled cruelly. 

 

“And so it begins,” he stated. “Come, we aren’t supposed to fight this petty battle.”

 

Tom swept away, his black cloak trailing behind him as the colors from wands soared in the sky, the Order’s forces already being depleted by their army. He led them up the staircase towards the seventh floor in the wake of piercing screams and dead bodies landing on the floor. Unlike their army, the Order knew the secret passages into Hogwarts, as Tom expected, which was why he flanked his factions at every possible entrance. Surrender or die was the reality for the Order. 

 

The hallway they entered was clear, and Tom began pacing in front of one section of the wall. Curiously, Hermione watched him, determined in this feat. A door appeared in the wall, just as Tom had promised. 

 

Before Tom entered, he again pressed his wand against his neck for his final announcement. “Harry Potter, the time has once again come. I have Hermione. She and the students of the castle shall be spared, and surviving members of the Order granted asylum after the battle if you join me and surrender yourself to your fate that you should have accepted eight years ago. I am in the room of lost things. Surrender yourself and save the others, for you know that victory is mine and I am not above slaughter.”

 

Then he turned and opened the door, comforted by the knowledge that Harry Potter would bolt here, as if none of the others around him matter. He had already lost so much thanks to Tom’s raging war, that finality was what he craved. No one wanted a war-torn country forevermore, not even the evil ones. 

 

The four of them entered the room of lost things. The rooms smelt and looked like burnt, crisp edges. It was blackened beyond repair, and Tom’s lips flinched at the sight of his once beloved sanctuary.

 

“It has been so long,” Tom uttered, lost in his memories. 

 

He stood still staring at the burnt surrounding, uncaring the battle raging on in the lower levels of the castle. Death of others was inconsequential to him. He never had trouble recruiting others. He never had trouble with her. 

 

Hermione approached him and stood next to him, and the two Death Eaters flanked them as they awaited the so-called Chosen One. Tom’s message would strike a nerve within him. Without seeing his reaction, Hermione knew it, for that is what Tom had guaranteed. 

 

As she waited for her victory against Harry Potter, her hand reached into her robe and played with the galleon in his pocket. Its magic felt reminiscent to her own, and it brought her some sort of comfort. It sung against her touch. 

 

The door to the Room of Requirement slowly opened, and Hermione flinched and took her hand out of her pocket. The man from that lone memory entered panting. His robes were disheveled and his face adorned with ashes, from the structure of the building or the dead he ran past on his way here she did not know. His green eyes shone widely from under his dusty glasses when they landed on her as if expecting some happy reunion, but she glared back at him.

 

“Hermione!” he called, uncaring to anything else around him.

 

Confused, she looked at Tom for an answer. He paid her no mind and stared at Harry with fury.

 

“Hold on, Potter,” Tom commanded. 

 

Finally looking at Tom, Harry snarled, “I have been waiting for this.”

 

“As have I,” Tom remarked. “She’s a crutch of yours, and I do love to see you suffer.”

 

“Let her go,” Harry said, his wand braced in front of him.

 

“You know, Potter,” Tom drawled, “I believe I’ll let my dear Hermione choose.”

 

Both of the men fell silent and awaited her decision. Though Tom knew she had nothing to decide. Hermione had also waited a long time for this, to see the man who took her life from her. It was an easy decision. A decision she made when she first heard of him after her memories were taken from her. This was the only way she could imagine getting them back, and killing such a cruel, evil man would most certainly grant them.

 

“You took everything from me,” Hermione reminded him.

 

“Hermione, I-,” Potter began to plead.

 

“Everything!” she screamed. “My everything!”

 

“I-I didn’t,” Harry Potter begged. “Y-you don’t underst—.”

 

“ _Avada Kedavra,”_ she cast, fire brimming her eyes, her lips twitching with rage for what Potter had done to her. To Tom. 

 

Light was cast out of his green, yearning eyes, but the same green eyes suddenly shook within her, and all she could picture was a happy eleven year old boy with a lightning scar on a train to Hogwarts next to a red-headed boy holding a rat and stuffed to the brim with snacks. 

  
_“Holy cricket, you’re Harry Potter! I’m Hermione Granger…and you are?”_

 

_“Ron Weasley”_

 

_“Pleasure”_

 

The memory of these boys had never left her. Not permanently. Death brought back her loss and her real pain to satiate the hunger she had felt for a year. All part of Tom’s plan.

 

Hermione fell to her knees in front of Harry Potter’s slumped body, her best friend, and dropped her wand. _What had she done?_ Everything became clear, who she had been soared in her vision. A little muggle-born witch who had been so happy to discover her magic, that it was not merely childlike imagination. She could recall her and her parents’ smiles when she was a child learning the secret of the world she lived in, a world that she could not imagine being so dark and distraught. 

 

The horrors she committed loomed in her mind, and she was sickened at who he made her become. All of the horrors she committed were sealed by the ring on her finger, with the man looming behind her and the fires roaring around them. 

 

Voldemort bent down so that his breath tickled against her neck that his teeth had grazed countless times during the past year. The past year that ruined the world. She could sense him pick up her forgotten wand and slip it into his cloak pocket.

 

Feebly, she reached her hand out to Harry’s cold body, caressed his face and now broken glasses. She began panting as his death sunk in. This time, Harry was not coming back. In complete realization, she backed away. Unable to control herself, her hands shot against her face as her breathing became erratic and a pathetic sob left her lips. 

 

“No,” she moaned, “Harry. No! I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

She bit down on her lips as the sobs tried to rock through her body. Her own Cruciatus. 

 

“Oh, Hermione, it was never supposed to end any other way,” Voldemort drawled, a sly smile creeping upon his pale, sharp features, and Hermione could sense the slime oozing out of his mouth. 

 

“No!” she screamed. “Take it back!”

 

He pressed a kiss against her temple, his salacious lips causing a disgusted shiver to run through her body. He hoisted her up as she fought against his touch, his deathly fingers running along her sides that were familiar to him.

 

“We must go my dear. He’s dead, and it’s all because of you. You have to stay with me and you know it. We are forever entwined.”

 

Hermione struggled against his grip as her tears flung around, but his hands seized her forearms as she pulled away.

 

“You did this!” she scathed. “You foul evil-“

 

“This is a gift, Hermione,” Voldemort attempted to convince her. “I returned your memories. Be thankful for that.”

 

He snared her against him as her hands tried to scratch his disease away. His head bent down and pushed his lips on top of hers, bruising them.  Instinctively she bit on his bottom lip, tearing it open, his blood trailing into her mouth. He pulled away, his blood trickling down and in droplets, hitting the floor. Slowly, he released one of her forearms and wiped the blood away.

 

“You can’t take it back,” he drawled, and let out a small chuckle, his teeth red with his blood. “And you will never die, my little monster. I’m making sure of it.”

 

Voldemort released her. As he walked away, his wand flicked behind him, and handcuffs appeared on her wrists. 

 

“Your disobedience will not be forgiven immediately,” Voldemort taunted as he left the room without looking back at her. “That could take decades, and we have plenty of time. But you will learn not to do that again. Even with your memories returned to you by me I will get you to submit to me, for I do so love a challenge.”

 

With that, the door slammed behind him. Shaking Hermione stood, unsure and afraid. She looked back at the two Death Eaters in the room. One of the masked figures jerked their head towards the door, telling her to follow him. And she would. 

 

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered to the cold body on the floor. A body that may never be found. The coin in her robe pocket burned, reminding her of her other murder. Neville. It had been Neville. Poor poor Neville, who’s death may have granted her a form of retribution against _him_. Her sobs were for him, for Harry and all who’s lives she had helped ruin. In recognition of its powers that she crafted she sent out a message of Harry Potter’s death. 

 

As she left the room, Hermione sent another message wandlessly: _I remember and one day He will die_. 

 

For Hermione knew what she had to do. No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard it could be, no matter how many times she would have to touch him, she would kill him. Even if it takes killing herself. 

 

Nothing would make up for what she had just done, what she remembered doing in the year she was gone and under _his_ every whim. Revenge could be a sick and long path, but she would succeed in her dying breath. 

 

No war is ever fully conquered.

 

With a vengeful fire spewing inside her, she followed him, destined to be the venom against him, armed with the coin in her pocket.

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much again to everyone who read, followed, favorited and reviewed. It means so much to me, I love all of my readers!
> 
> I’m very happy to have finished this story, and as Tom said, it was never meant to end any other way (Even though I had a completely different plan originally).
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> Love,
> 
> Montley


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